Beyond Boundaries
by StarlightAndShadow
Summary: Returning from the US Open, Ryoma faces his friends, his family and an environment that should have been familiar but turns out to be anything but. How will friendships, relationships and companionship develop when everything appears to have changed?
1. Breaking the cycle

_Hi everyone, and welcome to my very first PoT fanfiction. I've written a few other things, but this is my first foray into writing other people's characters, so please be sure to point out any blunders and OOC moments to me! I've played a little tennis, but never to the level of being a serious contestant in a tournament, and mixed doubles only, so excuse me if anything sounds weird or incorrect, and feel free to point me towards the correct information!_

_Since I grew up all over the world (spending no more than two years in a certain place) I've always wondered how someone who has apparently spent his whole life in another country and culture could adapt so easily to a switch… and I've come to construct this story around it. _

_This story will have some MalexMale content in the second half, however, this first half is safe for those not inclined towards yaoi as I'm going to keep it general for now. I'll adjust the ratings and post warnings once we get to the second half. _

_This is just an introductory chapter which has run away from me a little so...  
_

_Hopefully, you'll be a little entertained!_

_

* * *

_

_  
Chapter 01:_ **Breaking the cycle  
**

Ryoma returned to Japan declared a national hero. The twelve year-old was looking forward to finally having his grape Ponta in the right concentration of sweetness, to seeing his cousin, Meino Nakano, and to finally cuddling Karupin, his Himalayan cat again. The US Open had taken up most of his summer break, and even though he'd been happy to meet and greet his American friends and acquaintances again (chief among them Kevin Smith, the only player his age in the States who could at least challenge him a little) he'd been quite exhausted by the time the tournament finally started. He'd had too many photo shoots, interviews and marketing requests to count (among which he had only agreed to shooting a few commercials for Ponta, which had turned out to be five TV spots and one huge, world-wide ad campaign that turned him into Ponta's face of the year)- thankfully, his mom, who had taken a break from her work as an attorney had taken over his management for the time of his professional debut had kept the stress to a minimum. And that was before the tournament, when the only ones really interested in him were the Japanese media and companies as he hadn't even played a single match in the series before his Open debut due to his wildcard status.

It had been amazing, the way the crowd reacted to him after he had won the first rounds in straight sets. Glad to be on the courts again, against an opponent other than his dad, Ryoma had not even realized when he had fallen into the state of Ten'i muhou no kiwami, the Pinnacle of Perfection. After he had pulverized the third player, the rest of the world had taken notice of the tiny preteen. He could not even step out of his hotel without being mobbed by a rabid swarm of reporters, shoving microphones into his face and shouting questions in every imaginable language. Not even his trusted FILA cap had helped against them- on the contrary, white FILA caps had turned into bestsellers among the under-18s. Ryoma tried his best to ignore the diversions and annoyances, but he was only a teenager, and when one especially tenacious reporter from a major American newspaper had gained entry into the Echizen family's suite disguised as a room service employee he had snapped. His face set in stone he had verbally thrown the man from his room (which the reporter had been zealously photographing) and had announced his absolute withdrawal from any and all publicity work.

No more interviews, no more photo shoots, no more chants of "Echizen! What do you think your chances are in today's match against Kiefer?" - or so Ryoma thought. All his efforts were in vain, since now every single scoop-hungry paparazzo took to dogging his every step.

His only freedom was when he stood on the courts, and so his game improved and improved, until he had finally reached the final 16. He was going up against his first seeded player in David Nalbandian, and he demolished him spectacularly in front of 9.000 spectators on the DecoTurf of Armstrong stadium. His skills had grown exponentially with each opponent he had defeated, and not even one of the best ten tennis players in the world took more than four games a set from him. Ibu Shinji's Spot technique had been particularly useful against the Argentine player, offering him more than his fair amount of chances to score with a deceptively easy return.

The psychological effect this match had on his next opponent, the Serbian Novak Djokovic could not be estimated, but eventually Ryoma won against him in another match of straight sets- 6-2. 7-5, 6-0, drawing even with Bill Scanlon's Golden Set record. That love set had been the straw to break the camel's back, especially since it was accompanied by Ryoma's custom "mada mada dane", the impassive face and the cap drawn to hide his eyes. He had not been a popular contestant before, but his apparent lack of manners made it worse. He was labeled an 'impolite upstart' and criticized for a lack of sportsmanship, something that made him fume inside as he had never ever been anything but a fair player.

Nanjiroh was ecstatic, watching Ryoma climb higher and higher with each match he won. Their training sessions had grown in intensity, and his dad was _almost_ using his full strength against Ryoma now- in full five-set matches, since neither he nor Ryoma could ever take straight sets from one another. The anger the almost-teenager felt over his treatment by the other players, his rage at being unable to speak out for himself (for anything he said would immediately be twisted beyond recognition by the media) and the feeling of helplessness in a world where only the best tennis should count, yet everything _but_ that did were transferred into sharp corner shots, devastating smashes and devious drop-shots. Nanjiroh dragged him to a court every minute he could (which was when neither Rinko dragged her son away for some business talks and mother-son time or Ryoma escaped to who-knows-where), insisting on playing every single tie break to the bitter end (they managed to get to 76-74 in Nanjiroh's favor once).

His dad seeing nothing but his tennis, his mom busy fending off the vultures and Karupin staying with Nanako in Japan nobody noticed Ryoma withdrawing more and more into himself. Faced with a crisis he had no idea how to overcome (since it involved neither schoolwork nor tennis but unreasonable people), he took to closing himself off from any irritation. Kevin, his one friend in New York tried coaxing him out of the silent shell he had shut himself in, but Ryoma would just give in to his nagging and badgering and play a match with him on the public courts near Meadow Lake, not too far from the stadiums. Ryoma took care to never show his Pinnacle of Perfection there, and he and Kevin even lost a few doubles matches against the Griffey brothers who were in town for the Arthur Ashe Kids' Day. It was comforting to know that Kevin, at least, possessed about as much doubles sense as Ryoma himself.

The Griffey brothers told of their attempts at getting a wildcard for the boys' doubles matches which had been unsuccessful since their old manager's ways had been too well-known among ATP officials. They took their misfortune in good stride, though, focusing on the tennis scholarships to a prestigious East Coast school they had gained. Ryoma talked to them a little, and Kevin took it as a sign that his "therapy" was working.

The days before the finals, Ryoma trained to exhaustion against every player he could goad into playing him. If there was no human to train against he booked a couple of ball machines and used Sanada's training method. He ignored the growing aches in his bones and muscles, the chronic fatigue that pervaded his mind every second he didn't play, and the sleeplessness that came with his anticipation of the final Sunday.

テニプリ

His finals match against Roger Federer was one for the history books. In the end, Ryoma could only prevail because Federer had expended too much energy against his eternal rival Rafael Nadal in his own semi-final match. Still, they traded games and sets until Ryoma finally managed to break Federer's serve in the tenth game of the fifth set. The elation he felt at finally being able to gain at least a little ground in the hardest-fought match of his life carried him to a 6-4 victory that set, and to a final match score of 7-6, 7-5, 4-6, 7-9 and 6-4.(1)

Ryoma realized nothing but his exhaustion as he shook his opponent's hand after an incredible six-hour match that had barely evaded postponing due to the late hour. His legs shook badly enough that he had to almost be carried from the court in Arthur Ashe stadium. Nanjiroh was waiting for him on the sidelines, his trainer-face discarded for the prideful look of an ecstatic father. Ryoma's energy had been so spent that he had collapsed as soon as he had walked off the court, he didn't even make it to the changing room. The media outcry that followed he thankfully couldn't even register in his exhausted state, and when he had finally been able to somehow realize that he had become the youngest winner ever of a Grand Slam tournament he had just shrugged it off with a laconic "mada mada sune".

His father had been the one to receive the trophy in his stead as Ryoma had to be treated by one of the tournament physicians for severe dehydration and over-stressed muscles. His small body and teenage physique would allow him to recover; had he been fully grown, the damage might have been exponentially worse. He was prohibited from playing a full match against top-strength players for at least a month while going through light rehabilitation training, though. The doctor had been the first to recognize the onset of depression the young player faced, treating Ryoma to honest assessments and kind reassurances throughout his disoriented awakening after the big match. He was the one that recommended some rest and relaxation for the family, suggesting a mountain retreat upstate which he himself had frequented over the years.

"You're quite probably the best tennis player the world has ever seen," he had told Ryoma who, thinking of Yukimura, Tezuka, Atobe and Sanada back in Japan shook his head. "No, you are," he said, laying a hand on Ryoma's blanket-covered knee while the young tennis prodigy sipped some (too sweet) grape Ponta from a can Kevin had gifted him with.

"If I am, then why couldn't I even go get my trophy?" Ryoma asked, slightly bitter.

"You were playing against athletes in their prime, and you won," the doctor said, shaking his head. "You're twelve, not even a teenager yet. You should be able to relax and enjoy your life, not play professional sports with all that entails. I've researched you a little- you won your fourth consecutive All-American junior tennis tournament just last year. You've played the best game the world has ever seen against the world's number two this year. If that isn't a career, I don't know what is." Ryoma was silent, wishing he were wearing his cap to tug down over his embarrassed face.

"You shouldn't have to do that, though," the doctor continued, "you're still a child. Your body isn't made for constant stress like that- it has years of training to go through before it is. I don't want you to ruin all your chances before you could use them."

"But-" Ryoma tried to interject.

"No. I know junior tennis can be intense, but there is still a difference between a shot from a fifteen year-old and the serve of a twenty year-old. Your bones and ligaments will not be able to withstand the shocks of returning adult players' shots for long, and you will end up being unable to play any tennis at all. Is that what you want? Are you sure there's nobody at your level among your peers?"

"No," Ryoma admitted sullenly, thinking of Japan, and Kevin, Arnold and the other players he had matched up against over the last year.

"I want you to take a two-month break. You will not play any competitive matches during that time- not even with your father. I cautioned him against doing anything but light hitting already, and I informed your mother, too." Ryoma's eyes widened in shock. If anybody would be able to make sure the rules were observed it was his mother.

"You've managed to shock your intervertebral disks by returning Federer's smashes with that body-twisting smash of yours. You've seriously overstressed the ligaments in your left wrist- I'd like to recommend you only use your right hand for two weeks and immobilize your left. I understand that you are ambidextrous?" Ryoma shook his head.

"In tennis only," he said.

"Well, you're going to be with your parents, so it's not going to be as difficult. I'm going to show you how to bandage your wrist in a moment." Ryoma nodded. He did not want to give up tennis; it was his one saving grace in an increasingly puzzling world. Just earlier that day, when Nanjiroh had brought his Open trophy to his room he had heard his mother fend off a hoard of well-wishers and reporters citing child-protection laws. Not even the threat of a lawsuit had dissuaded the two nurses who had brought his lunch from taking pictures of him with a brightly flashing digital camera. And last but not least he had found his bed inundated by letters of congratulations and begs for an autograph after returning from a short walk to the balcony at the end of the hall his room was in.

"Are you alright?" The doctor asked his patient when the puzzled frown seemed to overtake his whole expression. "It's not that bad. Two weeks are going to be gone before you real… oh, I see. It's what happened earlier, right?" The old man's face twisted into a kind smile. "Don't worry, the circus will die down soon. They'll find another victim to hound…" He trailed off, watching Ryoma's closed-off and guarded expression.

"You're still worried about what will happen now, right?"Almost imperceptibly, Ryoma nodded. He had learned over the time he had spent in this doctor's care that it was no use lying to the unusually perceptive old man.

"It will all blow over soon. No doubt you'll read the occasional article about yourself in the local or sports papers, but after those two months, the hype will have died down. You'll see- you'll be able to lead a normal life again. Of course there will be expectations if you enter a tennis competition, but those will be either outlandish or measured against your real skill, so you should just ignore them all the same."

"Hrmpf," Ryoma shrugged.

"About those accusations of foul play… don't worry. These people haven't walked in your shoes. They're jealous, plain and simple."

"I'm going back to Japan once the two months are up," Ryoma announced. The doctor nodded.

"You won the national championships there with your team, right?"

"Not my team- Tezuka-buchou's." The correction needed no explanation, even as Ryoma hid his eyes behind closed lids.

"You'd like to go back to this team, right?" Ryoma's doctor enquired gently.

"Not going to happen," Ryoma said.

"Why not?"

"Graduation's in March. It's September now. By the time I return, it'll be November. The Seniors will be busy preparing for their High School entrance exams. There will be a new team captain chosen in January… to give Tezuka-buchou time to teach him the ropes."

"You're not as indifferent as you try to make yourself be."

"I haven't had a lot of contact with the Seniors outside the tennis club. I'm not sure why, but apparently their juniors are not supposed to talk to them at school. I don't really get the whole system there. It's just the way it is."

"Aren't you concerned about moving there more permanently?"

"Not really."

"Why?"

"School's boring, tennis is good."

"Ah." The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence.

"Well, I have to be off now," the doctor finally sighed, getting up and petting Ryoma's knee again. "I'll be by later to teach you how to bandage your hand."

"Thank you," the young tennis player said honestly. He would miss this, adults treating him as an equal and not as someone of lower intelligence and status simply because of his age.

He grabbed the latest letter from Horio in Japan that still sat unopened on the nightstand beside his bed. His mother had brought it to him at the time his father had been at the trophy ceremony, reporting that it had arrived at the hotel before the semi-finals. Ryoma's classmate had taken it upon himself to report about the whereabouts of the Seigaku regulars and freshmen, taking care to devote a paragraph to each of his "friends". Apart from Momo-senpai, Ryoma wasn't sure if any of them really were his friends or if they just saw him as a means to win the Nationals, but it was interesting nonetheless.

Fuji had been busy photographing an in-house ad campaign for a major shopping center that summer. Tezuka had gone hiking with his grandfather, and Oishi's family had taken a trip to Hawaii to celebrate their son's success in tennis. Kikumaru-senpai had tagged along, earning the money by teaching beginners' classes at the tennis club Kachirou's father worked for. Taka-san had been up early every day to go to the fish markets with his father. Kaidou had participated in a marathon race together with Momo-senpai, and Inui had done an internship in a pharmaceutical company. Horio, Katsuo and Kachirou had all taken tennis classes with Kachirou's father, and Horio boasted about being able to master the twist serve soon.

"Mada mada dane," Ryoma muttered, but one of the corners of his mouth quirked up just a little.

テニプリ

Late at night he was bundled into a limousine, a huge hooded sweatshirt obscuring his face and body. His dad and mom took turns driving them towards the Adirondack. The hotel the doctor had recommended was small, quaint and welcoming, exuding a log cabin kind of homey feeling.

The stay there still felt like a dream to Ryoma. Between hour-long walks and hikes with both his dad and his mom, the wonderful cooking of the hotel's portly chef, Anna, and the calmness of his surroundings the rest of Ryoma's stress simply bled away, leaving behind the heavy kind of satisfied exhaustion that turns you muscles to pudding and your mind into a calm lake.

Towards their second month there, the stress found little cracks to intrude through. The first one was that Ryoma was given notice that he wouldn't be allowed to compete in the Australian Open in January; the committee had decided that his age was more of a limiting factor than originally figured. He wouldn't have wanted to anyway, his mother, the doctor and Ryoma himself already made it clear that his US Open debut was going to be a one-time occurrence for now (his dad was still whining about it). The direct refusal hurt nonetheless, but Ryoma tried to put on his game face and simply shrug it all off with his trademark phrase.

The second intrusion into their peaceful life was the onset of winter. Indian Summer had been a wonderful time to stay in the mountains, but as the nights grew longer and the days colder Ryoma found himself low on energy and missing the warmer climates of Florida, the state he had grown up in. (2)

"I think it's time to leave," Nanjiroh suddenly announced one night, when Rinko and Ryoma were miserably huddled in front of the roaring fire. They were both better suited to warmer weather and, much like Ryoma's beloved Karupin let their activity level gladly drop to zero if the weather outside looked uncomfortable and no tennis match (or case) was begging.

"I think so too," Rinko agreed, leaving the shelter of her blanket to cuddle against her husband. Ryoma just yawned.

"I'll go call Nanako-chan," Nanjiroh said. Rinko held him back.

"Remember the time difference, dear," she said. "It's early enough tomorrow. Let's say we'll leave in a week or so."

The decision made, Ryoma's unrest vanished. He wanted to go back again, back to having grilled fish and miso soup for breakfast and Karupin to warm his feet during the night.

He was sent ahead on a flight from New York City's JFK to Narita. There hadn't been three free business class seats on the flight, so the decision to send Ryoma ahead as for him to have more time to overcome his jetlag had been made. Rinko and Nanjiroh both didn't like letting him leave alone (and Ryoma didn't like the embarrassing Unaccompanied Minor sign he had to wear as well as the lack of protection against reporters and their ilk or the flight attendant who started cooing over him the minute she got her claws into him) but their goodbyes were said with a minimum of fuss, due to Ryoma's stoic nature and Nanjiroh's antics, that drew a heartfelt "Baka Oyaji!" from Ryoma.

"We'll arrive two days after you," Rinko promised, "and I've told Nanako to come fetch you from the airport."

"It's OK, mom," Ryoma said, blushing a little. He was a US Open champion and still got his hair ruffled by his dad.

"See you soon, seishounen," his dad promised and Ryoma simply pulled his cap deeper onto his face.

"OK," he said. "Bye."

"Travel safely!" His parents called after him as he passed security, trying to get away from the flight attendant accompanying him who was trying to get him to hold her hand and sign an autograph.

テニプリ

More than a day of travelling later, Ryoma stepped back onto Japanese soil among a symphony of shutters and chatters, happy family reunions and harassed-looking business people hastily making their way out of the baggage claim.

Nanako awaited him at his exit, and the two of them hastily grabbed his tennis bag (any other luggage was going to travel with his parents) and rushed into the closest taxi, upsetting a few others waiting in line. They managed to bang the door shut just missing crushing one insistent media person's camera. Their driver asked them for their destination, and they were off.

"Desperate times call for desperate measure, ne, Ryoma-san?" Nanako asked, laughing a little.

"Che," Ryoma said, wishing she would stop using honorifics already. They were family, after all, and all this insisting it was only proper since she was a girl and he the first son got on his nerves. "You still not ready to call me by my name?" he asked. She blushed.

"You've won a Grand Slam now. It wouldn't be…"

"We're family. Please, call me Ryoma, Nanako-san," he told her. She smiled at him, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

"I'll try." She asked the driver to turn up the volume of the radio.

_"He came out of nowhere and went on to become the US Open champion, ending Federer's consecutive winning streak. Rumors are that prodigy tennis player Echizen Ryoma has come back to Japan! Sagara-san, do you have any news for us?"_ Ryoma flinched and tried to hide his face.

_"Of course I do! A few colleagues of mine and I have just spotted our young national hero leaving the airport with an attractive young woman, purportedly his cousin Meino Nanako, for destination unknown. Echizen was not available for comment."_

_"So he's back! What could his plans be, Sagara-san?"_

_"Following his unprecedented win of the US Open, Echizen can only be here for training, experts agree."_

_"What about the rumors that he's going to finish school here? He has, after all, won the Nationals with his Seishun Gakuen Middle School team…"_

_"I don't believe there is any substance to them. After all, what could a player of Echizen's caliber find in Middle School tennis?"_

"Ne, could you please switch that off?" Ryoma asked in a low voice. Their driver nodded, toggling a button on the radio. Blaring J-pop music filled the car.

"That better, Sir?" he asked. Ryoma nodded.

"Thanks a lot."

The rest of the drive to the house underneath the shrine was spent in silence. Ryoma was very tired; feeling wrung out and beat from his long journey. He was looking forward to seeing Karupin, whom Nanako hadn't brought to the airport.

Nanako made sure to put on her best 'innocent, helpless female' face while paying the driver and begging him to not give out their address to the media- it was not exactly a secret, but even though the name on the entrance spelled 'Echizen' it was registered as belonging to "Nanjiroh Brown". Brown was Rinko's maiden name and the perfect alias for the media-shy "Samurai".

"Don't worry, Miss," the driver assured her, "after seeing how little he really is… I have a son his age who wants to go into showbiz, you know. Johnny's here, Johnny's there… I can't stand hearing it anymore! I wouldn't wish that circus on anybody!" He shuddered dramatically and wished the two cousins a good night.

"He was nice, wasn't he, Ryoma-san?"

"Uisu," Ryoma said, a little put-out at the formality. "Where's Karupin?"

He had not even had time to place his tennis bag onto the floor before a cream-and-brown fuzzball attached itself to his legs, purring loudly. Karupin had finally gotten his human servant back!

"Have you missed me?" Ryoma cuddled his pet, speaking to him in English. Nanako sighed.

"There's food in the kitchen if you want some, Ryoma-san," she informed him. Ryoma nodded.

"I'm going up." He picked up Karupin and his bag. His bed was dancing like a vision in his mind, and he hid a yawn behind his hand. "I won't eat tonight, sorry."

"Have a good rest," Nanako said. "I'm going to make Japanese breakfast tomorrow to celebrate your return."

"Thanks, Nanako-san," Ryoma muttered, already half asleep. "I'll see if anybody's at the street tennis courts tomorrow… maybe see Momo-senpai…"

…**_ tbc_** …

* * *

(1) I obviously took quite some liberties with the US Open schedules…

(2)I thought the oranges in _Futari no Samurai _were kind of an obvious hint, but feel free to disagree.

* * *

ATP (author's thought processes) can be found in my profile- I didn't want to clutter the story up with my useless talks!

Next chapter (tentatively) titled **Breaking News!**: Returning in the middle of a term leads to more problems than anticipated. Also: A reunion.

I don't know if it will be as long as this one, but I'll try my best. This story is my NaNo project after all! As I'm currently without a beta, please PM me or write it in a review if you could help me out. I'd love having a beta reader for this story!

See you soon!


	2. Breaking the silence

_Hm, these early chapters are rather description-heavy… hope it's not too much! I'm open for any suggestions about how to change it, I've no idea how to force more dialogue in here. I also know that Rinko's maiden name is given as Takeuchi, but I had her have an American name as well. (one of my grandmothers uses her mother's maiden name and her dad's American name both, depending on the circumstances)._

_I've written about 15k words on this so far, I just need to break them down into chapters. Hope you enjoy reading!_  


* * *

_Chapter 02:_ **Breaking the silence**

Ryoma could barely keep his tired eyes open when Nanako woke him the next morning- much too early for his taste, even if the weakening sun was already about as high up in the sky as it was going to get. He shared some of his grilled fish with a delighted Karupin (and evaded Nanako's scolding about feeding pets at the table by yawning as widely as he could) and then trudged back upstairs, attempting to wake himself up by dressing in his sweats and a light coat.

"I'm going out!" he called as he pulled on his shoes. Nanako, who had taken the day off from college, simply waved.

"Have a safe trip!" she wished him.

It looked as though this year would be another snowless winter. Ryoma had heard enough from the neighbors about how unseasonably mild it had been last year- having come to Japan in April, he had no idea of what the cold season would bring. Not that there was a sign of a cold season anywhere. Having come from almost freezing temperatures, it felt as though spring had arrived early to Ryoma.

"You're back?" It was the old lady from a few doors over, the one that went up to the shrine every day just to annoy his dad. Nanjiroh had taken to whining whenever she had been there for more than half an hour a day, so much so that Rinko had threatened to tell her about his comments and to burn his swimsuit magazines. He had shut up rather quickly then, much to Nanako and Ryoma's relief.

"Hn." Ryoma wasn't in the mood of being more polite to the old nag.

"Youth these days!" she shrilled, and he was wishing he had never gone out. "Hn! As if that were a real answer! It's bad enough you're running amok with your tennis at the shrine, boy!" Before she could stick one of her gnarly fingers in his face Ryoma beat a tactical retreat.

"Have a nice day!" he mumbled and walked off. She ranted after him for quite a while, loud enough to make the few housewives in the neighborhood who _didn't_ have their window open already open one to listen in to the latest gossip.

テニプリ

He took the train towards the city center. It was not as full as it was in the mornings, but still full enough that he had to stand- not that he minded, it kept him more awake. Changing into the bus that went to Seigaku past the street tennis courts, he recognized a few familiar faces, but for the life of him he couldn't associate a name with them. They were from Fuji's little brother's school, he guessed, but what they were doing out of school at this time of the day couldn't be any good.

"Oi! Echizen!" They- rather the duck-face, the red headband was quiet- called him. He attempted to ignore them. A few people were already starting to whisper, and he was mortified to find his face on the front page of the sports section of the newspaper the older man sitting in the seat closest to him was reading. It was quite a long article, right underneath the latest soccer scores. He prayed his cap would disguise him and wished he could hide his tennis bag in his coat pocket.

"Echizen! Why are you ignoring us?" The two teammates of Fuji's little brother had made their way to him. "We heard that you were back in town, but to meet you when we were just fetching the repaired nets for our courts… what a coincidence! How was the US Open?" That duck-faced player had a voice befitting his character animal. By now, the whole bus was shooting him surreptitious glances, everybody trying to make sure he didn't see them staring. It was unnerving enough that a light sheen of sweat started coating the back of his neck.

"Who are you?" he finally admitted. The two players crowded him a little, and Ryoma wasn't sure if he should be glad they offered him some protection from the excited whispers of the other passengers that way or tell them to go away. They looked slightly put out that he didn't recognize them.

"I'm Yanagisawa, that is Kisarazu," Duck-face introduced the two.

"It's nice to meet you," Kisarazu said.

"Mhm," Ryoma said, disinterested. He had not played them, he thought.

"So… heard you won against Federer?" Duck-face still hadn't gotten the hang of being inconspicuous. His companion sent a long-suffering look to Ryoma.

"Hn."

"How was it? That match was one of the longest ever played!"

"It was?" Ryoma hadn't known that. He had taken to ignoring any and all media that had to do with tennis. He much preferred playing anyway, and when he was on the court he didn't notice the time passing.

"Yes," the quiet one of the duo spoke out. Ryoma much preferred him.

"I'm wondering, why are you here, Echizen?" Duck-face- Yanagisawa- asked. Ryoma shrugged.

"Is it for training?" Kisarazu wasn't so quiet anymore.

"Ah, this is my stop. I'll see you around," Ryoma said. The street tennis courts were one stop farther, but he didn't think he could bear this inquisition any longer.

"Echizen! Wait! It's…" He was glad the bus door shut in Duck-face's duck-face.

Shouldering his tennis bag and ignoring the furtively curious glances of the young mother and who was probably the grandmother of her child he walked off as quickly as he dared without seeming to be running. It was two blocks before he dared slow down.

"Che," he muttered to himself. If those people would finally make up their mind and either leave him alone or just ask him for an autograph he would be happy. All this undercover curiosity was getting very close to making him explode.

テニプリ

The street tennis courts were predictably empty; thankfully even the old gentleman who was usually around taking care of them was absent, probably gone for lunch. Ryoma took off his coat and grabbed his racket and a ball from his bag. The doctors had given him a clean bill of health before he left, had cautioned him to not overdo it again though. He had taken good care of himself during his "downtime", and he was eager to see whether his skills had deteriorated any. A match against one of his old teammates later would be nice!

He started warming up at the wall, hitting the same spot over and over again, forehand, backhand, forehand… His balls were picking up speed almost imperceptibly, until he was hitting them in a comfortable rhythm that would have tennis amateurs staring in awe.

From the corner of his eye he saw the ground caretaker limping back, an injury to the old man's right knee during his tennis heydays had shortened it just enough to be noticeable. He raised his unoccupied right hand in greeting, the old man nodding back before leading two of his friends who had come with him into the little clubhouse-like building in between the doubles and singles courts.

"Wasn't that…?" the wind carried to his ears. "He comes here quite often," the old man answered, winking at him as he caught him staring. Ryoma almost missed a return- the mark was a bit off, and he scoffed at how easily distracted he was.

It took a few hours for him to get into the mood for playing. By then, a few salarymen on lunch break had wandered in and out of the courts, hitting a few light rallies for a little exercise, then walking back to work. Next was the after-lunch crowd, mostly women with children going to school who wanted to exercise and recently retired men who had kept their skills. None of them interested Ryoma, who was taking a break on a bench, huddled in his cloak and cap and sipping Ponta. The caretaker's invitation to join him for tea had been turned down politely- he wasn't quite up for company, jetlagged as he felt.

Before he noticed it Ryoma had dozed off a little. The sun was sinking fast, and by now there were a few more players on both the doubles and singles courts. Most of them were middle or high school age, and the games going on were a lot more interesting than those earlier in the day. Yawning and stretching a little, Ryoma sat up. Maybe Momo-senpai or that rhythm guy from Fudomine would come by soon.

A couple of highschoolers playing singles caught Ryoma's attention. They were pretty good, hitting sharp returns to the corners, and seemed to be trying to perfect their topspin returns. He wandered over, his racket in his hand and two balls in the pocket of his jersey. The crowd, probably their classmates, shouted encouragements and insults against the loser of a rally.

"My grandmother could have hit that!" "You're slow as a snail, Ishiguro!" "Come on, Akamura, it's not that hard!"

He joined them, unobtrusively observing the players' forms. They were not bad, if a little sloppy. If the player on the right side of the court would tighten up his footwork a little, he might even make that topspin return.

"Che! What do you know, chibi?" He realized too late that in his tired state he had probably spoken out loud. He tugged on his cap and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

"He's unbalanced. If he put more weight on his back leg, he would have a better stand and could concentrate more on hitting his shot."

"You think you're so great, elementary school kid?" Ryoma scoffed.

"Mada mada dane."

"YOU…!" By now, more of the players' friends had joined the circle around Ryoma.

"Hey, how about it? You think you're so great? Go on, play a match with Ishiguro! See if your big mouth keeps flapping once he's through with you. You don't mind, do you, Akamura, Ishiguro?"

"Send him on the court!" His future opponent called out jovially. "We'll continue after that, OK, Akamura?"

"Alright. I'll be watching you. Don't you dare lose, Ishiguro! You're our club's ace!"

Ryoma kept his jersey on and his racket in his right hand. He had managed to build up his right-handed playing skills in the month his father had made him use it exclusively. He was still nowhere as strong as with his left, but for the small-fry highschooler it should be enough.

"Which?" he asked impassively. His opponent bounced on the balls of his feet. "Smooth." The red racket spun on the hard court.

"Service," Ryoma said.

"End. And your end, too, brat!" his opponent postured. Ryoma simply returned to the service line and bounced the ball a little. The feeling of the court was a lot different from New York.

He decided against using his Twist Serve, choosing instead to send the other player stumbling around the court, showing him his poor balance when he made him fall over his own feet every once in a while. The (too short for Ryoma's taste) match ended with the high school student panting in rage and exhaustion as he hadn't managed to score a single point against his small opponent.

"You… brat! You… cheated!" Ryoma scowled. How did one cheat at tennis when the match wasn't foul beforehand.

"Che. Sore loser."

"He cheated!" Cries of outrage went up among the spectators. "How could an elementary school brat beat Ishiguro otherwise?" "He's such a poser!" "Teach him a lesson!"

"He's just bad at tennis, nothing else. I don't need to cheat against someone as unskilled as him," Ryoma said, trying to return to his bag and coat.

"Not. So. Fast." Yanagisawa had recovered a little and grabbed him by his lapels to raise him up to his eyelevel. Cool golden eyes stared back at him.

Any nervousness Ryoma felt was covered by the anger bubbling in his chest. He had had it!

"You're just annoyed because you lost!" he spat.

"What was that?" The rest of the high school crowd had formed a circle on the court. Ryoma tried getting the ground back under his feet. Why did most people have to have several growth spurts after the age of thirteen? It was just not fair!

"What's going on here?" The caretaker was limping over, his face clouded.

"You're blocking the court, senpai-tachi," a lazy voice drawled before he could reach the source of the commotion. "We can't have that, no, we can't."

Relief so intense he almost went limp flooded Ryoma. The voice, the manner of speech- it could only be Momo-senpai.

"Ah, it's Momoshiro! How are you?" The friendly tones greeting the agreeable powerhouse were so different from the cold manner Ryoma had been confronted with that he couldn't help but wonder if there really was that much of a difference a year could make.

"Fine, fine. We're still busy training over at the school, you know? We got out early today, but we can't leave off practice, we definitely can't!"

"You're annoying," Kamio, who had met Momoshiro by chance at the entrance to the street courts, hissed. "Huh? What's going on with them?"

"It's that little punk. My classmates are teaching him a lesson. He cheated against our Ishiguro!"

"Cheated? How, senpai?" Momoshiro was puzzled. How could you cheat at tennis?

"He beat him in love games. He must have cheated."

"Hmm? We can't have people cheating at tennis, can we?" Momoshiro was interested. He still didn't get the whole cheating thing, but somebody disrespecting tennis was still heckling him.

"Yes. And he was such a disrespectful brat about it, too. Criticized Ishiguro's stance and everything." Now _that_ sounded familiar. Momoshiro knew of only one brat who would do something like that.

"Thinks he's so much better than his elders, stupid little upstart!"

Momoshiro had already made his way into the center of the circle, not even apologizing to the two people he shoved out of the way. "ECHIZEN?"

"Eh, Momo-senpai." Echizen hung in the grip of a much larger high school student, cap hanging crooked from one ear, a challenge glittering in his eyes that were rimmed by purplish rings.

"Let him be. He definitely didn't cheat. He's my kouhai, Echizen Ryoma." He pacified the crowd with slow movements from his hands.

"Echizen? As in, the Echizen who beat Yukimura Seiichi at the Nationals and just won the US Open?"

"That Echizen. Ne, Echizen?"

"Uisu." Ryoma adjusted his cap.

"You should learn to respect your elders," Ishiguro snapped. Ryoma flinched a little and hid his eyes. It wasn't his fault Ishiguro was bad at tennis.

"Well, I guess I need to talk to my kouhai a little. Come on, Echizen!" Momoshiro led Ryoma by the shoulders through the silent espalier of high school students who were still scowling at the middle school freshman.

テニプリ

"You're always so contrary!" Momoshiro whined around his burger. He had taken Ryoma for food at their customary fast-food place, not even attempting to start their usual eating competition after seeing Ryoma's tired face.

"He was just bad at tennis," Ryoma defended.

"Well, for you everybody's bad at tennis now. You successfully managed to put Federer in his place, didn't you?" Momoshiro laughed heartily. Ryoma tried to hide.

"It was a good match," he said. Momo just laughed louder.

"That's what Tezuka-buchou said the day after your match, exactly!"

"He did?" Ryoma asked. He was still a little unsure whether it had been the right decision to leave Seigaku at the time he had.

"He did. Fuji-senpai even had his eyes open and said he wanted to play another match against you. And Arai was almost as green as his headband."

Ryoma smiled a little. It seemed as though the club was still up to its usual antics. He was feeling a little awkward, not quite sure how to ask about his senpai, not quite sure how he could not.

"Fuji-senpai's photographs are still on display at the M shopping center," Momo continued. "And Tezuka-buchou has been a little more lenient since he came back from his hiking tour. He's been almost relaxed even!" Ryoma laughed.

"I don't think I've ever seen him relaxed! That would be seeing pigs fly!" Momo grinned at him.

"Maybe Inui's new recipes will help. He came back with three notebooks full of new ideas for Inui juices."

"I don't want to try them!" Ryoma shuddered. Who knows what they did in pharmaceutical development…

"None of us do, believe me! Thankfully, he's awfully busy with his Juku… almost all the third years are going to one now. Can't rely on the escalator system only, can they?"

"Hn." Ryoma guessed not. He also wondered why a genius like Fuji would need a private cramschool. Come to speak of it, Inui and Tezuka were not bad at school either.

"Well, enough about the senpai-tachi. What about you? How was the Open?"

Ryoma talked a little about the opponents he had faced, the games he had played and the techniques he had developed over the course of the tournament.

"Typhoon Smash?" Momo grabbed Ryoma's wrist. "Show me!"

"It's just the right-handed version of my Cyclone Smash," Ryoma tried to placate him but the soon-to-be-senior quickly dragged him out of the burger joint and back to the street tennis courts.

"Don't worry, the idiots should be gone by now."

テニプリ

Momo had been a little bit of a challenge without his Pinnacle of Perfection, Ryoma admitted. Seigaku Junior High's tennis club's skills had not diminished at all in his absence. His junior friend had even been able to use Kaidou's Hadokyuu Snake, and his… well, even in his thoughts Ryoma refused to say the ridiculous name his friend had given to his ultimate power smash. It was good enough to serve as a pro's smash, that was all.

Lying on his bed, his hands folded behind his head under hair that was still wet from a long bath with his favorite bathing salts Ryoma couldn't help but wonder what he had missed in his time away from Seigaku. He had been homeschooled during the Open, private instructors working one-on-one with him to enable him to manage the full schoolday coursework in just two hours in the evening. His natural quick mind helped him with it, but he was still unsure of whether he hadn't fallen behind. Not to speak of the interpersonal developments among all his senpai... were Momo and Kaidou still fighting as much as before?

"Ryoma-san?" Nanako called him from the kitchen. "There's a letter for you, from your school." Ryoma sighed, dragging himself downstairs again.

"What's it about?" he asked, already tearing the envelope carelessly. There were quite a few sheets of paper in it. Ryoma grabbed the first one and started reading.

"Huh. They want me to take a test to determine whether I'm still able to join the other first years in their second trimester." His hands clenched into near fists. "Che."

"What does the rest of the letter say?"

"They're not so sure if I may join the tennis club again. They're saying that I might be counted as a pro for the rest of this year."

"I'm sorry, Ryoma-san," Nanako said, helplessly trying to embrace him and failing due to her own insecurity and Ryoma's rigid stance.

"Che. There's nothing we can do until Mom and the old man get here."

テニプリ

When Nanjiroh had first brought up the notion of moving to Japan to allow Ryoma to go to his old school Rinko was skeptical. She had a perfect job at a major Miami law firm, she was establishing herself as a major player in international commercial law, and she had all her friends and her family in the States. Sure, not all of them were living in the Miami area, or even in Florida, but most of them were still easily accessible with no more than four hours of domestic flight. Ryoma was barely eight at that time, all huge eyes and cute smiles. He was just facing his first final round of the All-American youth tournament, and he was missing a few teeth still.

"Not yet," Nanjiroh offered after seeing his wife's skeptical frown, "but I'd like for us to keep the possibility in mind. Ryoma doesn't mind, do you, seishounen? You speak and write Japanese just as well as you do English!"

"I don't mind," Ryoma chirped, having caught the secret eyebrow-waggle that promised candy if he agreed with his dad. "I get to finish the tournament, don't I?"

Rinko had sighed. Figures that one tennis fanatic would raise another.

Two years later, Ryoma's smiles had grown rare. The infectious joy he had spread on the courts had been supplanted by a perfectly calculated and played match. He won, easier than ever, but the rising resentment among his peers made it harder and harder for him to deal with all that came with winning. When he had even started to adopt her husband's catchphrase, Rinko had given more serious thought to Nanjiroh's suggestion of moving.

There was an opening in the Tokyo office. It was a leading position, in fact, she would be a senior partner, second only to the appointed head lawyer. She was making it known she was interested in moving. Her half-Japanese background gave her an edge. They took over a year to conclude their deliberations.

Around the Christmas of Ryoma's twelfth birthday, she told Nanjiroh about having been offered to move to Tokyo. He of course was more than glad, ready to pack up everything they owned and start moving right away. They decided to hold back, to let Ryoma finish the semester and the spring youth tournament.

In March, an old friend of Nanjiroh's who knew of their decision to go to Japan asked him to take over monk duties at the shrine he was tending. Nanjiroh, as always easily entranced by anything new, agreed without even asking his wife. It was she who took over the duties of finding a home in the area and phoning the shipping company and Nanjiroh's niece about the change of address. His new, short hair was endearing, though. They packed whatever clothes they thought they needed and a few other essentials, then they were off.

The move had offered no complications for Nanjiroh as he had grown up in Japan, but for Rinko, who as a third-generation Japanese-American was American in all but her first and optional-use last name it was a harsh eye-opener. Rinko's mother had told her how her parents had almost disinherited her for marrying an American, but Ryoma would always remember his mother's smile when he caught her telling Nanako how his grandmother had instilled in her the sense of 'love conquers all' and how his grandfather had been the one to give Rinko her sandy hair and lighter eyes, which her son, too, had inherited. Ryoma himself had not been able to meet the man, he had been killed in a drunk driving accident when he was still a baby, but from what he knew of him from stories and pictures he must have been an incredible person to make his grandmother go beyond tradition and the will of her parents.

The change in social status based solely on her gender which Rinko had experienced coming from the US had been nearly unbearable. It was not only the silent oppression and resistance she faced at work but also the wagging tongues of the neighborhood housewives who couldn't talk enough about the bread-winning woman who wasn't a very good homemaker. As promised, and owing to her reputation in her chosen field, Rinko worked with the office head, another _gaijin_, a Scot who was just about as lost as her in the foreign environment. He had been transferred to the Tokyo branch of their company at the same time as Rinko, and had found a fellow mind in her. Her light hair and prominent position made her the preferred target of envy and gossip among the office ladies, and his tall frame and exotic light-blue eyes served to set him apart from his surroundings. Rinko had never told Nanjiroh about the hours the two of them spent talking- her husband was too happy to be back in the country of his childhood to be able to understand what made her miserable.

The neighbors' talks had gotten ever more vicious the later Rinko got home when they had a major case to prepare. Her husband's antics with his swimsuit magazines and deliberately provocative manners didn't help any. Being the only one actively earning put a huge strain on the still-young woman even if Nanjiroh's prize money from the 37 major tournaments he had won were used to pay for unique acquisitions, like the house directly underneath the shrine Nanjiroh had pledged to tend to for the time one of his old friends was on a pilgrimage. Ryoma's study fund was also paid for by Nanjiroh- or rather by Ryoma himself now, since winning the US Open had made him rich by anybody's standards, and that was not including the continuous payments from Ponta.

Their brief stint back in the US, the holiday in the mountains and the distance she'd had from all her problems made them loom larger than before as Rinko silently stepped through the door to her new-old home. She had enjoyed the talks with her old colleagues, the freedom of joking and laughing with them, and her brilliant, working friends. It was so different from what she was facing again now that she was close to crying.

"It'll all work out, my love," Nanjiroh told her in his horribly accented English, holding her safely as she stepped out of her shoes. He might be singularly focused on tennis, but he could be a lot more astute than anybody gave him credit for. She leaned back against his shoulder.

"Maybe I should just stop working, be more of a mom for Ryoma, more of a wife for you," she voiced her eternal doubts. He pressed a kiss against the nape of her neck and shook his head.

"We're fine the way we are."

テニプリ

Ryoma woke them early the next morning. Despite the few hours of sleep she had had, Rinko was awake the second he had knocked on their bedroom door. Checking the clock, she inwardly groaned. Normally, Ryoma was not an early riser, preferring to stay up as late as his parents allowed the twelve year-old and hating mornings with a passion.

"Come in, I'm up!" she called out and made room for him under her blanket. Ryoma, prickly as he appeared to outsiders, loved his family dearly. He would fight with his father over the most stupid things, then later crawl back to him for a quick hug and hair-ruffling session. Rinko did not expect the fully-dressed son coming through the door with a serious look on his face and a thick letter in his hands.

"I… I'm sorry, I know it's early and… I got this letter. From school."

…_**tbc …**_

* * *

_Sooo… this is the end of Chapter 02. I did not get everything I wanted in there, but it is as long as I dare make it while I still have so much expository stuff in there. ATP are as always in my profile._

_Next chapter should see a lot more character interaction as well as Rinko in full lawyer mode. Oh, and Nanjiroh gets serious._

_Maybe I'll even fit in a real tennis game! So, what do you say? Isn't all this exciting enough for you to drop me a quick review? The poor purple button's getting lonely with nobody clicking it! Just imagine you're petting Karupin…_


	3. Breaking News!

_Aaand the next chapter's here, fresh off the press._

_The Rinko flashback last chapter caused some confusion- sorry for that! It was all in the distant past (flashing to the present towards the end of it). Ryoma was reacting to the news that he might not be allowed to play tennis for Seigaku, which was why Nanako was asking about the letter's content again, sensing something must be wrong. I'll try to make the passages run more smoothly together during NaNoEdMo. At the moment I'm just trying to write as fast as I can while shutting out my Inner Editor (who is almost ready to come knocking with a battering ram- any good tips on how to fortify my creativity fortress?)… Enjoy this one, please!  
_

_

* * *

  
_

_Chapter 03:_ **Breaking News!  
**

His mom's voice was the best alarm clock ever, Ryoma thought. Ruffling through the sheaf of papers Ryoma had handed her, Rinko's gaze fell on the principal's letter concerning academic testing and the possibility of being banned from the tennis club. A shrill "WHAT?" effectively ended Nanjiroh's sleep time.

"What is it?" he asked, blinking straight ahead. He was sitting up, his back rigid, but his clueless expression gave away that he was really still fast asleep.

"Ryoma's got to go in for academic testing," Rinko began. "And the school might not let him play for the club."

"WHAT?" By now, Ryoma was sure the neighbors were wide awake. "Not let him play tennis? What are they thinking? They can't ban my son from the club, I won't allow it! It's…" If there was one thing that would wake Nanjiroh up in a matter of seconds it was mentioning his son and tennis in one breath.

"Nothing we can solve among ourselves. Let's go to Seigaku after breakfast- all three of us." Rinko was already putting together a case in her head. It was really quite simple, there was nothing that said that someone who had played one pro tournament needed to definitely _be_ a pro. Maybe there were some bylaws she could cite...

Ryoma actually smiled a bit at that. His mom could be a force to be reckoned with when she was this determined, and from the looks of her her brain was working in overdrive by now.

"Ne, seishounen, how about allowing us a bit more rest?" his dad yawned. Rinko would try formulating contingency plans for everything and anything now, and he trusted her with it, even where it concerned Ryoma and tennis. He would be more up to facing off against Seigaku's principal at his wife's side once he had been getting a bit more shut-eye.

"I'm going up to the shrine," Ryoma answered.

テニプリ

Nanako had to go to college early that day, so Rinko cooked a quick American breakfast for her husband and son. She had learned to cook Japanese food from her grandmother, but it was a lot more hassle than simply frying a few eggs and letting the toaster do all the work. Ryoma's two bottles of milk waited for him by his plate- thankfully, he wasn't lactose intolerant.

"Food's done!" She called. Nanjiroh fell into a seat. He looked like a panda, his eyes puffy and read with dark circles around them. Ryoma had gotten his anti-morning feelings from him.

"Where's Ryoma?" He asked.

"He's gone up to the shrine, darling," Rinko smiled. Her husband was notorious for forgetting everything he was told within the first hour of waking up. "He wanted to hit a few balls before breakfast."

"Speak of the devil…" Nanjiroh turned to see Ryoma place his racket against the wall while untying his shoes. "You're lucky you came back when you did. I almost ate all your breakfast."

"You can have it, Oyaji. I'm not hungry," Ryoma said. He plopped down in front of his plate and started guzzling down his first bottle of milk. "Did you feed Karupin already, Mom?" he asked Rinko. She shook her head.

"He wasn't in when I was making breakfast, so I thought I'd leave it to you."

Ryoma scraped half a can of cat food into Karupin's dish. He exchanged his cat's water for some special cat milk Nanako had bought at a pet shop. "Have you called the school already?" he asked without looking up from his task.

"The principal is meeting us at nine," Rinko told him. Ryoma stretched his body getting up from where he had squatted.

"I'll get dressed, then." Nanjiroh and Rinko watched him stomp upstairs.

"He's really irritated. I don't think the Open meant as much to him as this tennis club," Rinko sighed. "I wish they had at least written him a letter. He would have been so happy…"

"He'll still be in the club when all this is through," Nanjiroh promised, squeezing his wife's hand tightly. "You've managed to arbitrate any contract according to your terms when you really put your heart into it. It's why you were Berkeley's Number One."

"I'm just worried about him, my dear. I don't think moving here has helped any so far. He's become even more withdrawn than he was at the beginning of the year."

"Give it time, love. It takes time to become a part of everything here," Nanjiroh said. "The old hag will see to it that he can't hide any longer."

"I hope she doesn't force Ryoma into something he isn't ready for. Everybody seems to forget that he's just twelve… I had to fend off more offers for him to become an underwear model than I can count on my hands!" She was almost shouting now. Her tenacity and impatience were things she had passed on to her son.

"We'll speak for him. He will be fine." Nanjiroh didn't know what else to say. Over the past three years, his relationship with his son had deteriorated to the point where he would only talk to him to deliberately provoke him, and their only real exchanges were through the matches they played.

"I hope so," Rinko sighed. Ryoma came down the stairs dressed nicely in a polo shirt, slacks and a v-neck pullover his mother had laid out for him. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the sight of his parents whispering into each other's ears- scenes like that usually didn't bode well for him, one way or another.

"Time to go," Rinko said. Her voice was wavering, and she had to avert her eyes from Ryoma's inquisitive ones. The nagging feeling of unease Ryoma felt got stronger and stronger.

"Are we going to take the car?" He asked. His mom nodded.

"Dad's not driving," Ryoma declared categorically. His mom started laughing.

"No, he's not. Don't worry, everything's going to be just fine."

Ryoma wished for it. He could not help but feel it wouldn't be, though.

テニプリ

The principal's office was stuffy, dreary and gray as usual. The poor ficus on the windowsill was desperately trying to hold on to the last few leaves it had not yet shed. The principal's diplomas were hung in rigid black frames on the wall behind his massive desk, and the man himself was hiding behind steepled fingers and the glasses he wore to seem more intelligent.

Ryoma fidgeted in the stiff-backed wooden chair he had been assigned. His mom and dad were given more comfortable armchairs that set them to a lower level than the principal. He rigorously stopped any thoughts of trying to get more comfortable, concentrating on holding his hands still in his lap and staring at the many different spots of unidentified substances that had taken refuge in the crack between the carpet and the paneled faux-wood wall. The Nationals medal the tennis team had won that year was located on the wall directly opposite the door, glittering unnaturally in the artificial lighting.

"So. You've come to talk to me about your son, Ryoma." The principal liked stating the obvious. Ryoma admired his mom, who, dressed smartly in a black business suit was keeping her silence for the moment. Even his dad had smartened up, though he was looking a lot more relaxed with one of his ankles resting on the opposite knee.

"Yes, we have," his mom told the infuriating man behind the desk.

"It would be better if we adults could talk among ourselves, don't you agree?" The principal wasn't even waiting for Ryoma's parents to answer him. "I have taken the liberty of having my secretary write a pass for him so he can perfunctorily join his former class for their English lesson. Should you wish it, we will have him complete the schoolday, minus club activities."

"That sounds perfect. Thank you for going to the trouble of arranging this for my son." Ryoma thought he had somehow acquired a dysfunctional babelfish in his ear. Had his mother just agreed to sending him away?

"Echizen-kun, please collect your pass on your way to class," the principal dismissed him. Ryoma gritted his teeth and bowed as he felt his parents wanted him to.

"Thank you for your time, Principal Sumeragi," he excused himself politely. His dad winked at him as he closed the door, making the sickening feeling in his stomach at least a little more bearable.

"Echizen-kun?" the secretary asked before he even had time to turn around and face her.

"That's me," he replied easily, swallowing his anger and fear.

"This is your pass. You ought to go to your class immediately, no dawdling. Your teacher has already been informed and is waiting for you." From behind her desk, the flickering light of a television caught Ryoma's eye. _**Breaking News! Samurai Junior back in Japan!**_ was scrolling along the bottom of the screen, with a picture of him (with his face obscured) and his parents getting into their car. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing everything would just blow over already and leave him to at least have a semi-normal life again.

"I'll be going then," he said as he took his pass from the manicured claws of the secretary. She stared at him from beneath her lashes, studying him as one would a rare animal. He was tempted to inform her that he had not grown an inch since the five months she had last seen him. His hair color had not changed, and apart from not wearing his school uniform he was still the same student she had sent off into the summer holidays with the whole school.

Her veiled interest was nothing against what awaited him in his class, though. Apparently, Horio had been boasting of being his best friend, for he was beleaguered with offers to join the seat next to a certain person the moment he had finished his 'take care of me, please's. One of the annoying squeaking fangirls even seemed close to fainting, her eyes growing huge in her pasty white face, her hands clasped to her chest. He nodded at everybody, cursing the rule that prohibited headwear in the classroom and took his old seat by the window. Thankfully, this class was English, something he literally could have passed in his sleep. Though Seigaku Junior High received most of its students from its affiliated primary where they started English lessons aged ten, there were still a few students for whom it was the first year of studying a foreign language. Their stammering and stuttering unnerved Ryoma on a good day, on a day like this it was enough to send him fast asleep in a manner of minutes.

He stretched after being woken by the school bell. The blackboard was covered with his scrawl, so he must have answered some question or another between the time he had nodded off and now. Horio was telling each and everybody who wanted to listen (or not. That guy could rival the shouting freshman from Rokkaku!) how he was Ryoma's best friend and had written to him over the summer. He did not tell them that Ryoma had never once written back. Closing his eyes and leaning back against his chair Ryoma wished for his parents to magically appear at the classroom door to pick him up.

The only adult arriving at the end of their five-minute break was their math teacher. She was an attractive woman in her early thirties who did not make maths into the boring affair it could have been. Ryoma noticed that his one-on-one tutoring during the summer had given him a little edge over his classmates. He solved the lesson's equations (always on the same topic, rather predictable) he had been given as a copy in just half an hour and stretched his legs underneath his desk.

"Finished, Echizen-kun?" the teacher asked. She was never one to allow daydreaming, much unlike their English teacher.

"Yes, sensei," Ryoma answered lazily.

"Please solve the problem up front then while I lecture on the correct method of solving these percentage calculations."

"He's so annoying," he heard the class's Number One whisper. "Thinks he's allowed everything just because he's a big shot in tennis. He's even out of uniform!"

"I think it's because he just got back. Did you watch TV this morning? They were talking about there being life in the house he's supposed to live in."

Ryoma tried not to feel hurt at his classmates' words. He had enough experience dealing with situations like this, after all. At least nobody had chosen to employ violence yet, apart from that Akutsu guy. He was used to being a target for bullying- his lack of height and pure muscles didn't come into play as much here in Japan as it had in the US, where he had always been the smallest and most delicate among the boys. He had been the target of much ridicule, even after winning his first junior championship. Winning had only made the whole thing worse, to be honest…

"Silence!" their teacher demanded, the whispers ceasing immediately as though they had never been there. Ryoma ignored the feeling of a thousand eyes boring into his back and quickly wrote the solution to the problem their teacher wanted him to solve, returning to his seat after he had wiped his hands on the wet rag.

"Well done, Echizen-kun. You've left out a step here, but that's alright if you can calculate it without writing it down. If you wanted to include this step, it would be…" Ryoma tuned out the lecture while still looking attentive. He had a lot of practice in that.

Coach Ryuzaki's niece- the fangirl who had almost fainted earlier was blushing and looking at him with hearts in her eyes. Horio was physically holding back his wagging tongue. Down on the courts, Ryuzaki-sensei was preparing the nets for afternoon practice. Ryoma wondered if his parents hadn't already finished getting him back on the team. He did not mind the academic testing- it was to be expected after his long absence. After being told he was too young to compete professionally in the international circuit (when he had first been invited, after four months of not gaining a single ITN point), and getting told off by the ATP in the process, he did not want to lose his chance to play formal matches.

The bell sounding the end of the period brought a knock on the door. One of the second year students Ryoma thought he recognized from the tennis club was sent to fetch him to the principal's office. He followed without delay, refusing to look at his curious class.

"I believe I have presented enough evidence to show that my son has been invited as an ITF junior- not as one of the professionals yet. His contract with Ponta has nothing to do with tennis- it's merely a bit of acting he's doing on the sides. I believe you have a third-year girl who is starring in a popular evening soap yet still plays the lead in the school's Summer Festival theatric production? Apart from his participation in the US Open, which was strictly following an invitation, Ryoma has not played a single official match on the road towards becoming a professional tennis player since April.

"I believe there is no question as to whether he will pass his academic evaluation, but if I find you discriminating against my son again because an interview with you about his attendance at Seigaku was not broadcast on TV I will not leave my words in this room. If I ever hear that you gave an interview about Ryoma that has not passed my husband's and my screening, I will bring you to trial for neglect of a person under your care. Are your fifteen minutes of fame really worth that, Principal Sumeragi?"

His mom was never speaking particularly loud, but when she was enunciating every word as clearly as she was now her voice carried through walls.

"Following the conclusion of this month, I will allow your son to participate in the ranking matches for the regulars should Ryuzaki-sensei allow it. For this month, I'm afraid I can't do anything as Echizen-kun will have to complete all his evaluations first. Should he be established as a student of Seishun Gakuen Junior High, he will earn all the privileges and duties of a student at our fine school."

"Now that's a word, Principal-san!" Ryoma imagined his dad clap his hands together, jumping up as though a spring had been embedded in his chair. "Did you have Ryoma brought here already?"

The junior student that had accompanied Ryoma lifted an eyebrow. Ryoma wished he had practiced that skill.

"I have brought Echizen as requested," he announced the two of them. His mom's victorious grin told it all. His dad smirked at the principal.

"I hope we'll meet each other again, Principal Sumeragi. I'll be sure to do that exhibition training with the tennis club that I promised you." Exhibition training? Oh NO!

… and he couldn't even scream at his father in the presence of his principal. Life was _so_ unfair!

テニプリ

Being a normal student for just about two weeks would surely not be that bad, Ryoma thought. The two weeks remaining in November would be spent writing his evaluation tests every third afternoon, afterwards returning home. He would be allowed to join his old class and even participate in the tennis club as long as he did not appear on the official roster until December. His mother had once again been the best negotiator in town!

He told his parents and the delighted principal (who could not believe a foreign-raised student could show such a work ethic) that he would complete the whole day at school, returning home later.

During the rest of his classes, he was buzzing with the anticipation of getting to see his tennis club mates again. Lunch break was spent on the school roof, far from any fangirl (or fanboy). It was getting a little too cold for Ryoma to stay in his favorite retreat for much longer, and he mentally went through a map of the school attempting to find a similarly useful spot.

"So you still come up here," a soft voice interrupted his musings.

"Fuji-senpai!" Ryoma cried out in surprise, springing upright.

"Maa, maa, take it slow, Echizen," Fuji soothed. Just as Momo had predicted, his blue eyes were openly studying Ryoma. "You have not grown at all. Inui seems to have miscalculated your daily dose of milk."

"I don't need to grow to win against you, Fuji-senpai," Ryoma taunted. Fuji's eyes closed in a gentle smile.

"We'll see about that. Are you coming to the tennis club after school? I believe that apart from a few of our non-regular seniors everybody is awaiting you most eagerly."

"Awaiting me? Why?" Ryoma asked.

"Didn't you watch TV or listen to the radio this morning, Echizen?"Fuji enjoyed seeing him squirm.

"I didn't." Ryoma shrugged. "Was there anything important on?"

"Oh, nothing," Fuji airily dismissed his earlier question. "So, did anything here change?"

"Nothing," Ryoma said in the same dismissive tone Fuji had used earlier. "Momo-senpai doesn't eat as many burgers anymore."

"Oh, Inui put him on a more balanced diet, threatening to fill his water bottle with Inui juice anytime he caught him not sticking to it."

"I see." Fuji seemed to be trying to keep his distance. He didn't bring up anything concerning Ryoma personally, and the younger boy was getting a little uncomfortable. He was running out of light conversation topics.

"I'm sorry, Fuji-senpai, I think I have to go back down. I wanted to buy some more Ponta before class."

"I saw your ad. The picture was very well taken." Ryoma had been photographed in his usual tennis gear, his racket, held in his left hand resting easily on that shoulder, the white (logo-free) cap not quite hiding either his messy hair or golden eyes. He seemed to have come directly from a light match, fixating on the can of Ponta in his right hand as though it was the world's most coveted treasure. They had added some generic slogan or other, Ryoma thought. His mom was the one to handle all the details on that one. The Ponta people had just wanted to take pictures of him after one set against his dad.

"Thank you, Fuji-senpai. I'll see you later."

テニプリ

Ryoma found himself rushing over to the boys' tennis club's changing rooms as soon as his teacher had dismissed their class. He left Horio behind in his haste, pulling off his pullover before he had even reached his locker. There was no Seigaku regular jersey waiting for him there, but he shrugged off the little sting. There was no doubt he would get his position back the next month.

Dressed in his red-and-white training outfit, he started checking the nets and filling the respective courts' ball baskets in preparation for training. The other freshmen would have started game practice now as well, so the courts were bound to be a little more crowded than usual.

"You're quite industrious, Echizen," Ryuzaki-sensei's slightly husky, rough voice greeted him. He returned to the benches and took to bouncing a ball on his racket- the normal way, on the gut. "It was a little boring without you. I hope the others will start getting back into their game now that you're back. The freshmen and juniors seemed to think that without you to compete against their regular position was certain."

"Che." Ryoma had no love lost for idiots who didn't know the value of keeping their training up.

"Well, it's bound to change anyway. Here they come!" The regulars, dressed in their white-and-blue uniforms, somberly filed into the court after a quick bow to Ryuzaki-sensei.

"Ochibi! You're back! I missed you, nya!" The somber mood was kept up for two tenths of a second, the exact time it took Kikumaru-senpai to jump on Ryoma. "Tell us all about New York, you have to! I was so afraid when we didn't see you receive your trophy and they said you were hospitalized, too! But if you're back here it means you're OK… I couldn't believe that tiny little blob on TV this morning would be you. Then Fujiko told me he had met you at lunch, but it's Fujiko and he could have meant he saw your Ponta ad." Ryoma was turning blue from lack of air and regretting ever agreeing to doing this Ponta thing. All his senpai seemed to have nothing better to do than comment on it.

"Na, Eiji, I think it's better if you let Echizen take a breath now," Oishi calmed his hyper doubles partner.

"Ah, sorry, sorry, ochibi!" Kikumaru-senpai finally let him go. Ryoma took a gasping breath before taking two steps back. Some distance was better than none when confronted with the unpredictable acrobat.

"Echizen." Tezuka-buchou was, as always, a man of few words. He faced Ryoma seriously, though, and his recognition and approval of Ryoma's actions that summer shone honestly in his brown eyes.

"It seems I have mistaken your body's ability to utilize the calcium from milk. I will have to adjust my calculations now that you're back, Echizen. It won't do to have you collapse after a match again." Ryoma wasn't sure how to answer this greeting. Inui didn't seem to be carrying any suspicious liquids on him, but…

"Fssshh." That was yet another unfathomable greeting. "Welcome back, Echizen." Ah, he had forgotten that Kaidou had impeccable manners when it really mattered.

"Hoi, ochibi's still ochibi!" Kikumaru-senpai was held back by Oishi before he could start another glomp attack on Ryoma, who had been unconsciously adjusting his beloved cap.

Fuji smiled serenely and lent his racket to Kawamura-senpai who was walking in beside him. "BURNING! ECHIZEN'S BACK, BABY! WATCH OUT! Here comes Echizen! FREE SUSHI for you as a winning prize for the US Open!"

"Thank you, Kawamura-senpai, Fuji-senpai," Ryoma choked out, feeling a little short of breath still- probably from Kikumaru-senpai's glomping.

"Good to see you back, Echizen." Momo finally spoke up. He felt much more at ease now that the strange jet-lagged Echizen had disappeared and this regular Ryoma had come out in his stead.

"It's good to be back, Momo-senpai, senpai-tachi. Tezuka-buchou, thank you for having me," he said earnestly.

"You're welcome," Tezuka told him. His voice held somewhat more warmth than Ryoma usually detected, but maybe it was just his wishful thinking striking again.

"Begin you warm-ups, everyone!" Unnoticed by the regulars other than Tezuka and probably Fuji the rest of the tennis club had arrived, gathering loosely around the regular players. "Thirty laps around the grounds!"

Ryoma smiled as he ran. No matter where he really stood, no matter what was going to be thrown at him, it was good to be back.

"BURNING!" And it was never easier to run than in the slipstream of Seigaku's resident Hadokyuu specialist.

As he went through warm-ups, fetching balls and finally hitting a few light rallies with his non-regular teammates, he felt as though he was starting to understand the words the doctor in New York had said to him. Maybe he should rather relax, enjoy his tennis and worry about everything later.

"Echizen! Come play a few games with me! I want to try out my new counter," Fuji called him over just as Ryoma was refilling the basket for their court again.

"Excuse me, Mizuno, Katou," he told his fellow freshmen, handing over their rally to Arai who was looking positively gleeful at having a chance at revenge.

Fuji's serene smile greeted him across the net. "Saa, now let me see the skills of a world-class player," he asked.

"Mada mada dane!" Ryoma wasn't ready to give up his secrets so easily. "You will have to show me something else but that Gatekeeper of yours. I saw that one often enough during the Nationals!"

"Saa, is that so, Echizen?" And Fuji tried the same technique again. Ryoma returned his shot, not without some difficulties, but the recently mastered zone technique both his father and Tezuka used helped enormously.

"Mada mada dane, Fuji-senpai!"

Yes, going through practice like this it almost felt as though the world was perfect.

Up from her usual window Ryuzaki Sumire watched her club members training. A white sheet with a few notes in a tidy, exact script lay in front of her on a desk, being slightly reflected in the windowpane above.

"Are you really sure about your choice, Tezuka?" she asked the empty room. It wasn't that she didn't trust the captain and his explicit knowledge of his club members. He just wondered if his choice could maybe be a little too optimistic. Betting on people getting along had never been a sure thing, after all.

… _**tbc…**_

* * *

_Not much to say about this chapter except that it's still mostly rough. I have come to the point where I'm writing as I'm posting, so… give me 2-3 days for chapters of that length to appear. I'll pre-write some more, since I have some days I won't be able to, but I'd rather pace myself than burning out. Next chapter's going to skip ahead to December. A routine has been established- but how well will that hold up against the chaos of Christmas, sadistic senpai and playing tennis in the snow?_

_Please read the ATP in my profile- I've kept those for Chapter 02 up for the time being since there wasn't that much pre-planning going into this part. What do you think of my "tenipuri" line breaks, by the way? Are they an effective method or confusing?  
_

_I'd love to have a review from you- I'm offering free Eiji glomps with every review! _


	4. Breaking the bauble

_Wow! Thanks for all of you writing me and adding my story to your favorites. I adore each and every of your comments- thank you ever so much! Please be sure to remind me of any mistakes in the story- I'm typing this on the fly, so I'm not doing ANY review or beta work. Wahh, this is almost conceptual only!_

_We're skipping time here a little, it's close to the end of the year… and here we have this certain dual celebration to get through. I hope you'll enjoy reading this chapter- it's getting closer to the plot, too. (though this will probably remain a character-driven story to the end. The regulars wanted to write around in the second part of the story- oi, Ryoma, you're not even thirteen yet at this poin!. Meh!)_

_I guess I should say sorry for taking so long to update- if you want the reasons, they are as follows: My reading has been doubled the past two weeks, I went on a no-laptop holiday, I'm still too frozen to think. I think I promised you the usual uni student's whining, didn't I? Well, here it was, now on with the story!  


* * *

  
_

_Chapter 04:_ **Breaking the bauble  


* * *

  
**

Out of all his senpai, only Fuji had to have a worse date of birth than him. But then, he had the opportunity to either celebrate on the day before or the day after his official birthday, so it was not like he was stuck to what amounted to a mass lunacy epidemic.

Fighting through a throng of afternoon shoppers, every single of them chattering excitedly either on the phone or with the person next to them, Ryoma wanted to run and hide from everything that was Christmas. His school uniform offered him some measure of protection, lending him the anonymity of being just another Junior High student. It had been three months now since the end of the Open, but the excitement over a Japanese winning one of the Grand Slams had still not abated. Whenever there was a slow news day, Ryoma spotted someone following him or someone rang the bell for Nanako to tell them that nobody was home.

He had to thank the reporter that had always covered Seigaku, together with his excitably younger colleague. Since he and his Dad had sat down and had a talk (that quite probably involved his Dad beating him at tennis), he had been the one to handle any and all interviews Ryoma was to give. He was very honest and appreciative of his time, and he never twisted his words the other reporters did.

Ryoma grinned a little. He still remembered the explosion his mother had had when the story of him being desperately in love with beautiful soap star Kimiko Nakamura had been published. He had never even heard of that girl, but apparently he wrote her love letters full of passion.

It took an enraged Rinko exactly two minutes to get through to the editor-in-chief for that boulevard magazine. The last Ryoma had heard of him was his mother telling him that he had joined his family's ice cream shop in Okinawa- as the cleaning lady.

He was jostled by a lot of shopping bags leaving the train. Glad he had left his rackets behind, Ryoma made his way into one of the major shopping centers right at the train station. He would have to look for his parents' and Nanako's Christmas presents.

They had kept their Euro-American Christmas traditions. His Mom had already started baking some cookies, an advent calendar was hanging on the wall of his room and the whole house was decorated with blinking, twinkling lights. His room was the only one that had not been invaded by the unnerving flickering things.

It wasn't his favorite time of the year, even though his birthday fell on Christmas Eve. If he could he would gladly change with Fuji-senpai!

He let himself be dragged into the perfume department of the store. Nanako had told him about a new perfume one or another of those celebrity models had recently brought onto the market. He preferred her without artificial scents on her, but apparently it was all the rage among college girls. An assistant started talking to him about all the latest innovations on the perfume front and how they would make his "little girlfriend- is she as cute as you?" happy. He needed about five minutes to politely tell her what he really wanted and what for. He had been sprayed with three different masculine scents by then- well, if males wanted to smell like a meadow full of flowers that had died. He could not think of any that would, and tried to surreptitiously rub the scent off on the paper towels that came with the perfumes.

Ignoring his growing discomfort at his "enhanced" scent that had withstood all his best efforts in getting rid of it, he simply meandered through the excitedly babbling throng of singles, couples, harried married people trying to find "the right thing" for their spouse and finally joined the queue in the jewelry section, fingering the slip his Dad had given him. He was to fetch his Mom's Christmas present as, certainly, a lazy person like Nanjiroh abandoning his relaxation duties at the shrine was unthinkable.

"I'm here to fetch the pre-paid item for Echizen," he told the assistant, who was eyeing him with the curious eyes he had identified as the prelude to squeaking loudly among females. Why everybody thought he was shopping for a present for a girl friend (or was it a girlfriend?) he would never understand. He was twelve! Not even a very large twelve year-old, and while he certainly hadn't entertained his American friends' notions of "cooties", he did not have particular interest in the female species. They, on the whole, seemed rather loud, weak and colorful, and if Wobbly Hips, Hair Too Long was anything to go by their tennis was seriously lacking at his age. (He would not call the Williams sisters weak or lacking by any definition of the word!)

"Oh, so your girlfriend's name is Rinko?" the shopping assistant said, glowy-eyed when she had read the newly engraved inscription on Ryoma's Mom's new bracelet while polishing it.

"Geez, can't you read?" Ryoma almost said. Instead, he simply snatched the beautifully wrapped box from the counter, thanking the assistant in a strangled voice (he would have preferred to inform her that it was physically _impossible_ for a twelve year-old to have been together with someone for thirteen years. _For my Rinko, with love. Let's celebrate the next thirteen, too!_ If that hadn't been enough of a hint, the thirteen citrines inlaid in the gold bracelet should have been!

"Stupid Christmas," Ryoma muttered after having been almost floored by another set of bags larger than the person carrying them again. He had to find some sort of funny little present for his senpai still. He wasn't too sure what the rule was in Japan, but in the US he had always given his team mates some kind of little trinket at Christmas. Last year, it had been a tennis ball penlight that would cry _"Fifteen-love!_" when activated.

The toys section was thankfully a little more quiet than the clothes, jewelry or perfume section. Kids were gazing at the displays with wide eyes while their mothers discussed age-appropriate things with the assistants. The tiny gadgets he was looking at were colorfully wrapped in foil decorated with Christmas ornaments, and he finally chose the miniature racket cell phone straps complete with display-cleaning function. He gathered nine of them into his small shopping basket.

Over the past month, he had felt more at ease than ever with his tennis team. Though the respectful distance between him and the senpai hadn't really deteriorated, he felt it was now being upheld on a mutual agreement only. The vast difference in skills he now displayed (it took Tezuka at his best and Fuji being serious to even give him cause for working for his win) seemed to impress them, and while the non-regular juniors and seniors (when they even came to practice) were treating him rather cold (and colder by the minute), the regulars had held ranking matches the day he had passed his last evaluation. They had celebrated his return into their midst with the normal sushi fest at Kawamura's, Taka-san serving them his own creations that were almost indistinguishable from his father's to Ryoma's untrained tongue. He loved that Taka-san seemed to cut the sashimi for his nigiri a little thicker than his father!

Kawamura-senpai had begged out of the ranking matches, his injuries from the Nationals cause enough for him to end his tennis career with their win, as he had promised his father. Ryoma had instead displaced Arai, who had been gleefully proud of his regular jersey, going as far as trying to wear it during lunch. The junior was the one most openly displeased with Ryoma's return. Together with his two cronies Ikeda and Hayashi (who were still of the opinion that Arai was the greatest, though Ryoma had no idea how that worked as every single regular demolished the regular-hopeful with almost clockwork regularity) he had tried to make Ryoma's life more difficult little by little, be it messing up a recently cleaned-up court or misplacing his water bottle, racket, cap or other possessions. Ryoma's usual indifferent response had left them inwardly fuming, but the freshman thought he couldn't care less.

He had been working on extending his reach over the past month. It had been one of the most nagging points in his US Open participation, carrying over from his days as Junior Champion that his reach simply wouldn't equal that of his older, more grown opponents. His speed could only do so much in getting him on equal ground. Nittouryuu was a great way of getting to a ball earlier, but the length of his arms could not extend. He finally tried varying the Tezuka Zone so the balls would not always directly return to him but bounce into the path he was on in the court. The recently christened _Special_ _Samurai Zone_ would work inconsistently, sometimes sending the balls to the complete opposite end of where he wanted them to go. He could still go chasing after them, but his returns were unpredictable and imperfect. It was still very mada mada dane.

Having made his way back home, Ryoma tried rousing his father from his erotic magazine-induced quasi-coma. Karupin had managed to shred the centerfold pages that had promised the year's hottest models united in their love for bikinis (how one could love bikinis when the first flurry of snow could fall anytime Ryoma didn't want to know). Soothed by the promise of a tennis match (and Rinko's apparent satisfaction over Karupin's methods which she tried to encourage the cat to employ more often) he finally dragged himself from the warmth of his house into tennis shoes and the icy confines of their private court on the shrine grounds. In winter, even Nanjiroh could not play barefoot.

The rain that had drizzled down over the past few days had made the hard-clay ground soggy, footing becoming treacherous on the slippery ground. Tennis balls lost their bounce when exposed to lower temperatures- there was a reason why tennis was a summer sport. Seigaku had two indoor courts, the facilities newly built with some donation money and state support as to even out the odds in the competition among Tokyo tennis schools (namely Hyoutei). He hit a few uninspired balls with his Dad, but after slipping for the third time Nanjiroh begged off further training, citing Nanako and Rinko's wrath at the two of them tracking reddish mud all over the house as his reason.

"Did you get it, seishounen?" his Dad finally asked. Ryoma nodded.

"I put it in my bag," he stated, carefully cleaning his racket before sliding it into his bag.

"Think your Mom will like it?"

"Yup, she'll love it." He shared a small grin with his Dad. The two of them had seen Rinko become more and more tired with the usual year-end rush in business that required her to work longer and longer hours. She was complaining about inefficient secretaries just attempting to fill their hours with looking busy while being anything but, pig-headed, chauvinist colleagues, arrogant clients and the never-ending stream of paperwork. When Ryoma's Dad had pointed out that being a lawyer usually meant that she _liked_ paperwork he had earned a conveniently-within-reach tennis ball to the forehead.

"It's high time we just take a few days for ourselves," his Dad mused, attempting to brush off some of the dirt on his shoes. "We've not had a proper family dinner in weeks, it seems, and Nanako's starting to get lonely." He chuckled in his perverted way and Ryoma rolled his eyes.

"Let's get home and get warm, Dad. And Mom had better not see you looking _that way_ at my cousin."

"You're just no fun, Ryoma. Try getting a girlfriend already!"

"What would I need a girlfriend for when I have you to fill almost all the aspects of that role?" Ryoma quipped in English. His Dad's face when he finally deciphered his son's words was priceless.

"Yo…you… Ryoma!"

"Mada mada dane, Oyaji! What do you want for Christmas anyway?"

"Let's just rent a court and leave your Mom to make dinner as usual. That's enough of a present, seishounen." Still red-faced, Nanjiroh led the way to the house's garden entrance where he and Ryoma de-muddified themselves at least a little before sneaking upstairs to the bathroom without getting caught by either of the females in the house.

"I should just leave them thinking I didn't see them," Nanako whispered to herself, smiling at the quite identical triumphant faces both father and son had worn.

テニプリ

_The days are getting tired,_ his Mom used to call the later days in December. It was the last day of school before the Christmas holidays. Even in Japan, the week from Christmas Eve to New Year's was free- there wasn't anybody working in any interesting part of the world anyways. The shorter days had brought the first snow, the flurry of white enough to send the tennis club into their winter schedule with no morning practice and a greatly abridged afternoon session. Seigaku's winter courts were state-of-the-art, situated right next to the indoor pool they were brightly lit and spacious. The tennis players could cross over to the pool area through a double door and cool down after their training as long as the swimming club wasn't using it.

Ryoma went through drills with his fellow first years, showing them the correct way to handle backhands. Keeping their feet parallel to the net while turning their torso to give their balls more spin proved a challenge while no balls were involved, but when Ryoma had them line up and take a running start for three balls across the width of the court the results were rather disastrous. They seemed better during game practice, but if there was one thing the young US Open champion knew it was that proper and precise technique could save your life on the courts. The haphazard way Katou hit everything that went to his left side, for example, caused him to expend much too much energy and would disable him halfway through a three-set match.

It took most of them a little too long to correct their stance, not to say anything of their accuracy. Ryoma sighed as he set up another set of targets on his side of the court. He should be wearing a catcher's body armor! These wild balls were almost as lethal as Tachibana's Wild Lion.

Nursing a black eye caused by his threat of feeding Mizuno Inui Juice he decided to get out of the way, joining the third-year regulars along the sides of the two courts as the non-regulars attempted to improve their tennis.

"Not much there, is there?" Ryoma muttered to himself, in his native English. "I pity whoever's going to be the next captain. Making a team from _that_…" He missed the sharp narrowing of Tezuka's eyes and Fuji's amused twitch of his eyebrows. Wincing as Horio almost pulled a muscle from the ridiculous flourish he insisted on putting into every single of his shots, Ryoma shook his head. It was just one of these days, he guessed, the days where nothing goes right. At least the rain and snow had stopped right in time for Christmas, making way for a crisp, icy cold weather that frosted over his blood just by thinking of going outside- well, unless it was for tennis. His Dad had taken up training him again, and he was relentlessly forcing Ryoma to confront the weaknesses of his Special Samurai Zone. His back muscles twitched at the thought of having to bear the strain of his father's shots again.

His Mom had been livid when, after the ground had become stable once more, Nanjiroh ran Ryoma into the ground so much so that he had to be carried home from the shrine, unable to navigate the steps. He had been so knotted up that not even his Mom's massaging skills had been able to straighten out his back, and the hot soak in the tub had only helped so much.

"Echizen's turned into an old man!" Momo-senpai had laughed at him as he had limped through practice the next day, his stiff muscles protesting even his picking up a racket. Tezuka-buchou had taken one look at him and had ordered him to sit out practice. Ryoma had complied without too much grumbling- it had taken until this last day of school for him to become limber again!

Watching the first and second years bumble through games was better than not playing tennis with the other regulars at all, Ryoma decided leaning back against the cloth-covered walls of their tennis hall. Tezuka-buchou seemed resigned to the level of incompetence, Fuji amused, Inui was scribbling something in that notebook of his, Kaidou was hissing in agitation and Momo-senpai was shouting at them all. Kawamura-senpai had headed home directly after school to help prepare for the evening rush at the restaurant. Eiji-senpai was jumping up and down along the sidelines, Oishi-senpai trying and failing to control his overly energetic demonstrations of the correct way to handle this or that counter. Two weeks without them, and without tennis seemed to loom in front of Ryoma. No, today was not his day.

テニプリ

School ended with Tezuka-buchou's speech reminding them not to let their guard down during the Christmas holidays. Thankfully, it was as short as one was used to from the taciturn captain, and Ryoma was off before his depression at the lack of Seigaku tennis could catch up to him. Waving off Momo-senpai's offer of burgers (and Kikumaru-senpai's enthusiastic support of that idea) he beat a hasty retreat to the street tennis courts. The newly built part of them sported a heated floor, making it possible to play even in winter. Anything to get away from this feeling of uselessness, this feeling of being a grain of sand in everyone's eyes. The third-years were high-strung with tension about the last mock exam they had taken, the second-years already fretting over whom to spend Christmas with. His fellow first-years were excited about the results of their practice. Ryoma was just trying to get by.

He touched the phone straps he had bought for everyone. There had not been a chance to gift them to the other regulars, what with everybody being so busy and Ryoma not sure how to breach the subject. There seemed to be no gift-giving going on among the students of Seigaku after all.

He had always been angry about how all his school friends had always forgotten his birthday. Just one day before the presents arrived, he was forgotten even by their teacher. Only his parents and Ryoga had ever made a big deal of his birthday, removing all the Christmas decorations for just one day to hang up the birthday balloons. December 24th had always been just about Ryoma.

His Dad was still plagued by guilt over Ryoga's fall from grace. His brother had gained a scholarship to the same school the Griffeys would be going to now, ending up with the wrong crowd, sliding deeper and deeper into a criminal lifestyle.

He had testified against Sakurafubuki and his band of merry pirates (or not so merry now that they all served life sentences in jail), his Dad's influence and his Mom's representation ensuring that he got off scot-free with just a few hours of community service. That unfortunately meant that for once he would not be around on Ryoma's birthday as he still had to stay in the States until the last hour had been served.

Ryoma shrugged into his jersey, pulling his coat on over his tennis gear. There were quite a few people waiting to play on the public courts, and he settled in for the wait, standing in line behind some other Middle School students from an unknown school. He lightly bounced a ball on the frame of his racket, attempting to keep his muscles loose and warm for when he got to play.

The same group of High School boys Ryoma had already beaten once started stirring up trouble again. They invaded the courts en masse, laughing off the enraged cries of everybody waiting in line as they bullied their way onto the courts. Never one to stay silent, Ryoma went over to confront them.

"You wait in line at these courts until it's your turn to play," he informed them. "You then play one game and join the queue again if you want to have another go."

The High School students regarded him as an insignificant insect, brushing him off. The one Ryoma had played against, Ishiguro, had not come that day so at least one moderating influence was missing. Enraged at their disregard for the rules of his favorite sport Ryoma went on the court, sending the ball one of the two High Schoolers playing had hit out of bounds with an easy twist of his racket. The High School students were quick to react, crying out in anger at the disruption of their play. They circled around Ryoma, the others who had been just as annoyed at the older kids' antics stepping away to leave him alone at their mercy.

"You're so full of it!"

"You look kind of stupid, kiddo!"

"He's so stupid, it shines from every pore."

"Are you even Japanese? I bet you're a discriminating foreigner with these eyes!"

"You're ugly!"

"Yeah! Ugly, ugly! Go away, ugly foreign kid!"

Ryoma didn't even bother to reply, trying to stare them down impassively while hiding the panic growing in his chest. He had been through that once already, and it had not been pretty at all.

When he had won his first Junior championship aged eight, kids at his school had reacted quite contrary to what he had expected. Where he had thought he would go from funny, if a little weird nerdy kid to someone more accepted among the sporty crowd, chief among them the Little League pitcher Ryoma secretly admired for how tall he was, it all turned out to be a nightmare for little Ryoma. When he had proudly presented his gold medal to the class on Monday morning during homeroom, the snickers going around the room had sounded like Oohs and Aahs to him. It all came to an end when he shyly left the few friends he had to join the baseball kids at their table.

"Look, it's the little-girl Ryoma!"

"He even has a girly name- are you sure you're not a girl, Ryo-maaah?"

"Let's check!"

"Yeah, let's check!"

"Ryoma must wear a skirt when playing tennis- he's a girl!"

"Look, he's almost crying!"

"Girly-girl Ryoma! Girly-girl Ryoma!"

Ryoma had tried to hide his tears in his mashed potatoes, but when lunch ended he had been openly crying, wishing he had never tried to make friends with his tormentors. The afternoon lessons had passed in a soft blur of fear and exhaustion, being called upon by the teachers for looking too absent-minded. After school, he had tried to put everything out of his mind when he had been ambushed. What followed after he had never told anybody, but it had made him wary of the world and everybody but his family. He just hoped the photos didn't exist anymore, but then, why would they? He was not the same weak person he had been. He knew it.

"Should I go and cry?" he asked, lips curled back in a sneer reminiscent of Kaidoh-senpai. The other people on the court seemed content to let him fight for all of them. Weak, spineless idiots he called them in his mind.

"Should we help you with it? Maybe you'd like to go badmouth us Japanese a little more to all your foreign little friends, ugly kid?"

"We should teach him a lesson not to underestimate us. He may be a bigshot when it comes to tennis, but he's just a little kid. He shouldn't always be mouthing off to those with more experience."

"He's such an eyesore and a nuisance, but hey! Don't you all think he kind of looks like a girl?"

_Not again, not again, not again_, Ryoma chanted inwardly, Outwards, he just blinked a little.

"You think so? Doesn't this mean you're kind of saying the opposite of what you've said before?" He taunted, looking for a way out. The others, who had been content with just watching a Moment before, were closing in on the source of the conflict now, sensing a sensation in the making. There would be no Momo-senpai saving him today, Ryoma peered up at Akamura, the instigator of the whole hubbub. "You know, if you're so undecided why not play a game against me? Maybe we can solve the whole problem that way?"

Appearing nonchalant could be an art. Ryoma tried his best to calm his racing pulse and thudding heartbeat. If Akamura and his friends found out how afraid he really was…

"Solve this with tennis? How stupid do you think we are, girly-boy? You're really asking for it, aren't you?"

The first punch was unexpected and hit the eye that was already swollen shut from Mizuno's unlucky hit. Ryoma saw stars, hanging limply from Akamura's grasp. He knew he did not stand a chance against those High School kids. He knew there was nobody coming to help him. The second punch hit his stomach, getting caught in his voluminous jersey and not even winding him. Ryoma knew he would not be as lucky again.

So he did the only thing he could- fight dirty. His tennis shoe-clad toes came up, his aim was true. Even as he was dropped, he was rolling, and running. He was faster, had more stamina and was smaller than his pursuers, but even so he had a hard time shaking them, the Christmas crowds being thick once he left the street courts.

Jumping on the bus just before the doors closed, Ryoma tiredly shut his eyes. Today was definitely not his day!

テニプリ

What should have been but a little swollen eyelid had turned into one prime specimen of a shiner by the time Ryoma had reached home. He was tired, disgruntled and just had enough. In the States, he at least had had some friends to offset the bullying of others. Here, he wasn't even sure where he stood on the friends scale. He didn't even have his big brother around.

Studying his reflection in the hall mirror, Ryoma gave a wince when his fingers exerted too much pressure on his black eye. He dropped his school and racket bags in the hall where he stood and perfunctorily wiped his shoes on the mat before trotting into the kitchen where he rummaged around the fridge for some ice packs.

"Seishounen?" His Dad took the opportunity to come down from his study to greet him. "What happened?"

"Tennis ball," Ryoma said, sighing in relief as he placed the cold pack on his aching eye. His Dad predictably dissolved in laughter.

"S'not funny, Dad," Ryoma groused, plopping down on the couch and switching on the TV. There might just be one of the Masters matches on.

"It is. Your Mom told me to ask what you wanted for your birthday dinner, by the way."

"Sushi," Ryoma said like every year. "Katsu-don might be nice, too."

"Both? My, you're a greedy one, seishounen!" His Dad teased.

"Says the man who has a mass barbecue for his birthday every year," Ryoma shot back, wincing as he stressed his eye with the attempt at smirking. He lapsed into silence again when there was no further comment forthcoming from Nanjiroh and let himself become entranced in the rhythmic motion of the yellow ball flitting around the screen. There was no need to tell his parents everything, he thought, they had not known everything in a long while.

Besides, he wasn't sure he could tell his Dad about what had happened. He was sure it wouldn't happen again, and besides, there wasn't anything really happening. It was just a normal dispute… wasn't it?

That night, Ryoma hung up the phone straps he had bought on his desk lamp. He would try to get them to his senpai in time for Christmas. Maybe, if he just made the effort, maybe everything would turn out alright. Maybe they could become friends. Maybe… just maybe, there wouldn't be a repeat of the past. He had not been the only one winning this time, after all.

* * *

…_**tbc …**_

* * *

_I hope this chapter has been satisfactory despite being so late- please drop me a note if you have the time? Thank you very much in advance!_

_So, I'm off to write some more- please tell me what you'd like to see? _

_See you later!_


	5. Breaking the habit

_Christmas time=exam time for uni students like me. I've just written the final one today, soo… my brain's still past well-done on the frying scale. Through all the studying, I managed to jot down a sentence here or there, so please enjoy reading…_

* * *

_Chapter 05:_ **Breaking the habit**

* * *

Ryoma had not chosen to be dressed like Santa Clause- but it had been either that, or face the green, skimpy elf costume his Mom kept waving around.

"You have to be appropriately dressed for Secret Santa," she admonished her grumpy son while Ryoma desperately tried to get Karupin to shred the hat he was supposed to be wearing since it itched- abominably so!

"We're just distributing presents around like every year," he groused.

"But this is the first time we're doing it in Japan and I want my colleagues to see my son dressed to the nines in a Santa costume," his Mom insisted. Ryoma wisely decided to keep the peace and cease his protests. He quickly put the rest of the presents lying on the kitchen table into the burlap sack his Mom had found who-knows-where.

"Just a minute, Mom," he asked, remembering the phone straps for the regulars. He would not wrap them or anything- he _was_ a guy after all, but he would hang them up on the other regulars' doorknobs.

"Have you got everything?" she asked, wrapped in a coat, scarf and gloves when Ryoma came running down the stairs again, the straps dangling securely in his fist.

"Think so," he said, sharing a grin with his mother. Secret Santa was a tradition they had begun when Ryoma first started walking. His Dad, who usually would have been the one to drive around with a trunk full of presents was such a hazardous driver that Ryoma's Mom quickly decided she would be the only one driving a four-wheeled transport in the family. She would always bundle Ryoma into the car with her as they drove from house to house, trying not to be noticed as they placed gifts on the doorstep, rang the bell and ran. It had turned into something like a Mom-sanctioned game of ring-and-run.

"These are cute," she said, nodding to the collection of gift items Ryoma had dangling from his fingers while balancing the bigger boxes with his Mom's gifts for her colleagues in his arms. "Do you have the addresses of all of your senpai?" Ryoma tried nodding in assent, then thought better of it when the stacked boxes threatened to spill all over the floor.

"I've put them on the list," he said.

"Good, good. Nan-darling, we're off!" she called out to Ryoma's Dad, who lazily waved them out of the door.

"Don't get caught!" he admonished the two of them before Ryoma and his Mom were off in the family's nondescript Toyota. No press was camped out in the neighborhood (his Mom's calls to the police station about loitering seemed to have had the desired effect), so their trip was fairly stress-free and enjoyable.

"Do you think everybody will mind that they're getting their presents on the 23rd?" Ryoma asked. In the US, everybody had been accustomed to the Echizen family's tradition of skipping Christmas Eve in the order of Christmas holidays in favor of celebrating Ryoma's birthday, but as far as he knew nobody in Japan even knew his date of birth- or maybe they would, if they read the sports pages, but they would have forgotten it already.

"I don't think so. All my colleagues know it's your birthday tomorrow, and your senpai should just be happy about the surprise."

"It's still weird," Ryoma mumbled, scowling. Why couldn't his Mom have popped him out faster? She could have had a c-section or something, then he wouldn't have been born on the 24th.

"Grumbling about your lot in life again?" His Mom interpreted his grimacing correctly. "It's going to be fine. And I'm not saying sorry for your birthday.

"Not saying that you should," Ryoma shot back belligerently and stared out of the window at the houses rushing by as his Mom barely kept to the speed limit. They were starting at the Scottish head attorney's house out in the outskirts of Tokyo where he lived with his wife and his High School age daughter.

"Ryoma, listen. It's just normal that people would get excited about something world-wide."

"S'not worldwide," Ryoma said.

"OK then, something that a lot of people all over the world celebrate. You're just one person, after all and…"

"That baby whose birthday they celebrate is just one person."

"Now you're speaking like an attorney!" his Mom crowed triumphantly, making Ryoma shake his head in exasperation. Was it time for the yearly "Whose son is he?" competition already?

"So what," he bit out, leaning against the cool window and tracing imaginary patterns on the fogged-up glass.

"It's OK, Ryoma," his Mom soothed, and they sat in silence until they had reached their destination.

Ryoma grabbed the brightly wrapped parcel from the trunk, carrying it up to the doorstep while his Mom kept a lookout. They rang the bell and quickly drove off, laughing all the time. Ryoma's bad mood had vanished as soon as the game had started, delivering presents with his Mom was always one of the best ways of getting him out of a funk.

"Next stop: The Fujis!" his Mom announced. "Ho ho ho!"

Ryoma laughed.

テニプリ

Ryoma's birthday started wonderfully with no alarm clock shrilling him out of his well-earned sleep but instead the soft meowing of Karupin who was cuddling up to his face. Since there was no school, his pet had allowed him to sleep in until just before noon as he so loved to do. Karupin seemed to share his daily rhythm with Ryoma, the Himalayan even managed his own food intake according to his human's.

"Morning, Karupin," Ryoma yawned, peeling the covers off of him and stumbling around in that pre-waking stupor that never abated until he had taken his shower.

"Hmm… birthday," he mumbled as he studied the calendar on his desk, showing a green circle around the date.

"Should get dressed. Smells like Japanese breakfast. Nanako will grill a fish for you, too," he told his cat who was twining around his legs, meowing softly.

Ryoma's parents had a few years back come to the silent agreement that they would let their son wander down to breakfast on his own. Ryoma tended to be irritable and disorientated when he woke, and having someone shout birthday greetings in his ears made him sullen for days on end, so his Dad had been prohibited from waking him up (much to his chagrin).

"Morning, everyone," Ryoma greeted his family, who were sitting around the table in anticipation of his arrival.

"Happy Birthday, son," his Dad greeted, pulling him into a one-armed hug and ruffling his hair in the manner Ryoma so detested.

"Happy Birthday, Ryoma!" His Mom joined the family group hug.

"All the best for your birthday, Ryoma-s… Ryoma," Nanako said, stumbling a little but honoring Ryoma's request to desist with the honorifics. In honor of his day, Nanako and Ryoma's Mom served Japanese food all around.

"You're a teenager now, son," his Dad said with that certain gleam in his eyes that promised endless embarrassment for his son. Ryoma concentrated on shoveling his rice into his mouth.

"I know that some changes are going to happen in you now…" his Dad continued, singing softly.

"Not at the breakfast table, Darling," Ryoma's Mom saved him and Nanako, whose ears were turning red at the tips as well. Judging from his Dad's habits, she must've known what he would want to do to Ryoma, he mused.

"Have you finished eating, Ryoma?" she asked him as soon as he had smuggled the last piece of fish down to a patiently waiting Karupin who simply rubbed his face against Ryoma's leg in thanks.

"Sure, Mom," he answered.

"Then it's time for… PRESENTS!" his Dad announced, bouncing up from his comfortable slouch at the table.

"Hn," Ryoma acknowledged, secretly thrilled. He wondered what they might have gotten him this year? A nice gaming system maybe? Tickets to Wimbledon (well, a guy could dream, after all)?

"Open mine first, seishounen!" His Dad thrust a sloppily wrapped rectangle in his face. The newspaper it had been covered in was already torn enough for Ryoma to guess at the contents.

"No thanks."

"Riiinkoooo! The kid hates meeeee!"

"More like he hates your attempts to convert him to pervertism!" his Mom hissed, ripping the newspaper off the swimsuit magazine Ryoma's Dad had hoped to smuggle into his presents.

"Ehehehehe," his Dad chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "I think this just managed to slip in…"

Ryoma, his Mom and Nanako glared at him in unison. "What? He's a teenager now! He needs to know about the facts of life!"

"He's known about those since he was four, thanks to your choice of reading material! Did you have to go to school when the teacher called after Ryoma had told her she needn't use that euphemism of 'birds and the bees' when one of the girls in class asked where babies come from and should just call it 'sex'?"

"So? At least he's not an idiot who would go around getting any and all girls in the vicinity pregnant!"

"ENOUGH!" Nanako made herself heard. The normally shy, perfect Japanese beauty was breathing heavily through her teeth and had the face of a hungry mountain lion. "It's Ryoma-s…Ryoma's birthday, right? So why are you fighting?"

"Don't worry, they're always doing this. Dad has been trying to "educate" me since I was nine. Mom flips every time. They shout at each other for ten minutes, then we get back to opening presents. Thanks for the interruption, though. That was territory I don't want to tread on yet," Ryoma said, yawning a little and hiding the small packet of chips he had brought for the show.

"Really?" Nanako asked, her eyes large and frightful. "Rinko-san can be so…"

"Convincing?" Ryoma guessed. "Comes with being a lawyer, I think. Dad and I never stand a chance against her arguments."

"Not what I was going to say," Nanako muttered but chose instead to paste on a bright smile. "So, which of your presents do you want to open first?"

Ryoma chose the brightly pink wrapped package first. It was huge enough to be certain to house something special! He eagerly ripped off the wrapping, then opened the carton- and did a double take. There was another carton inside.

After about five minutes and a mountain of carton, wrapping paper and frustration, Ryoma triumphantly held a bar of chocolate (his favorite Swiss one, but still!) in his hands. His Dad was sniggering madly, and even his Mom couldn't hide her chuckling.

"We knew you'd open the biggest one first!" The broke out in unison, laughing at Ryoma's indignant face. He couldn't keep the grumpy façade up for too long, though, joining in the laughter after a moment more of teenage sulking.

"Come on, open another!" his Mom urged.

In the end, there was a new gaming system ("Your Mom wanted the fitness option," his Dad confided after Ryoma had been puzzled studying all the new equipment that came with it), more chocolate, a can of new professional-grade tennis balls and as a final surprise a tennis ball signed by all the quarter finalists in the Open.

"We asked them for it, to commemorate your first international tournament. Who would've thought you'd win this?" his Mom recounted, a tear in the corner of her eye, eliciting indignant shouts of "Hey!" from both male family members.

" I always knew the boy could do it. He's my son after all!" Ryoma's Dad boasted. Ryoma rolled his eyes. Not again, he thought, and before his parents could descend into another match of 'Whose Child Is This?' he suggested setting up the gaming system and playing a few rounds.

"I… I'm sorry, but… I…" Nanako excused herself with flaming cheeks, "Ineedtogetreadyformydate!"

"Huh? Sorry? I don't speak Inuit?" Ryoma's Dad teased, while his Mom simply nodded her husband's niece off.

"Have fun, Nanako!" she called out.

The family of three spent a lazy afternoon on the sofa in front of the TV, battling each other at various new games. Ryoma's Mom complained of aching muscles in her arms afterwards, but after receiving a lot of teasing from her husband and son she finally conceded that it was not so bad, and that she had bought the exercise add-ons for the system for herself.

"Che," Ryoma said, not seeing why his perfect Mom would need something like that. His Dad's grin promised a different form of exercise, after all. "Let's play another round of the tennis game!" He was a little ticked off at not being able to win a single match against his Mom in that game- neither had his Dad, to be honest. His Mom seemed to be a natural genius at game system tennis.

After having been horribly slaughtered in a love game _yet again_- seriously, it wasn't normal that, if you hit a tennis ball just under the apex in a serve it should crawl over the net at snail speed while your doubles partner exactly mirrored your moves and the stupid game alter ego was too slow to catch a corner shot. Sulking, Ryoma threw down his controller and told his Dad to "Finally win one, no matter how!" while curling into the corner of the sofa.

The doorbell ringing brought a point for Nanjiroh- the first ever- as Ryoma's Mom stood up from the couch.

"I think this should be the sushi delivery," she announced.

"Sushi delivery?" Ryoma asked. "I thought you were cooking?"

"And you think I can make sushi?" his Mom laughed. "It takes me hours just to make Japanese breakfast, you'd die of starvation before I'd have made enough sushi for the two of you! No, I'm having fresh fish, fruit and vegetables delivered and we're having a sushi chef coming in tonight. I'll make your katsu-don, though. Maybe then you'll win at this tennis game for once!" She couldn't resist the shot.

"Che!" Ryoma muttered, grabbing the controller and engaging his Dad in a game of missed shots.

"Come in, welcome!" he heard his Mom greet the person at the door- and almost fell off the couch when an unmistakable voice shouted out "Happy birthday, Ochibi!".

"Eiji-senpai?" he wondered, getting up and leaving his Dad to celebrating his victory (of one point. The system was on pause).

"Huh? All of you?" The hallway was lined with shoes, and his Mom was asking for them to just walk around in their socks since she didn't have enough slippers for all of them. She really would have to buy one of these bulk packs soon, Ryoma thought.

"I thought you were going on a date, Momo-senpai?" he addressed his spiky-haired senior first.

"And miss your birthday, Echizen? Not likely, absolutely not!" Ryoma was grabbed and put in a congratulatory headlock.

"Happy birthday, Echizen," Fuji said, bending down to where Ryoma's head was kept in Momoshiro's grasp. "I hope you don't mind us invading your home? We're very sorry for the intrusion," he then told Rinko.

"Oh, I don't mind, I'm glad you came to wish Ryoma a happy birthday," she answered, smiling as brightly as the middle school student in front of her.

"Scary, nyah! Fujiko and Ryoma's mother's smiles are so brilliant!" Eiji was the first to hop up into the Echizen's living room.

"Ah, seishounen, what's the commotion about? You still haven't beaten me, not that you can!" Nanjiroh called out from where he was leaning on the floor, magazine in one hand, controller in the other.

"Wah! The perverted monk is in Ochibi's house!" Eiji screamed.

"That's my Dad," Ryoma pointed out, a little breathless from the hurricane that was his senpai invading his house (and from Momo-senpai almost strangling him).

"Good afternoon, Echizen-san," Tezuka-buchou, who had been a silent presence in the back until now greeted Nanjiroh.

"Ah, the kid captain, and all the boy's teammates. Welcome to Casa Echizen!"

"I didn't know your dad spoke Spanish," Fuji-senpai whispered into Ryoma's ear, coming closer than what was comfortable to the younger boy.

"He doesn't," Ryoma said. "Casa is just about the only word he knows." He prudently kept silent on his Dad's other Spanish vocabulary, none of which was suited for polite conversation.

"I see," Fuji smiled.

"Oh! Echizen's got a new game system! And it has tennis, nyah! Can we play, can we play, ochibi?"

"Eiji! We should all wish Echizen a happy birthday first, and give him our presents, right?"

"Thank you for your Christmas present, Echizen. Happy birthday!" Kaidoh thrust an oblong package at Ryoma. "I hope you can use those," he said. Unwrapping several sweatbands from his favorite brand, Ryoma thanked his senior profusely. He was glowing with happiness that, for once, his birthday had not been forgotten.

"Yes, thanks, ochibi! I had just lost my display cleaner, and it was a Chocolates original, too! But yours is much better!" he was quick to add after a glare from Tezuka. "Happy birthday!"

Ryoma thanked all his senpai for their gifts, which ranged from a new manga (Ryoma's favorite series) from Momo-senpai to a home-made cake from Eiji-senpai. His teammates even sang a birthday song to him, as Tezuka had discovered the practice during his stay in Germany and had found out that one usually did the same in the US. Ryoma was pretty embarrassed by all the effort his senpai went to- after all, he wasn't used to celebrating much, if at all. He stored his presents on the table with all the others, then invited everyone to sit down. His Mom had brought out drinks which were eagerly received, and since the game system was already fired up the middle schoolers all crowded around it, taking turns playing all the games that Ryoma had.

"This tennis simulation does not follow the flow of a real game," Inui observed after losing to Eiji- again. Ryoma found out that, compared to the others on the team, he was pretty average at playing.

"You should see my Mom play," Ryoma said, relaxing a little after everyone seemed so much different than at school. Without the presence of a school uniform or team sweats, even Tezuka-buchou was less imposing. Kaidoh was looking a lot less dangerous in a simple jeans and pullover, and even though Fuji's smile was no less creepy the distance between him and the others vanished without the different markers on their uniforms.

"Echizen-san, you play too!" Eiji invited Ryoma's Mom who, with a smile that her teenage son had not banned her from his party took a spot next to her son on the couch.

"Wow, you really are good, Echizen-san!" Taka-san commented after losing to her in straight games.

"Let buchou try!" Ryoma said, pushing the second controller into his captain's hands and freezing when he felt Tezuka stare at him. "Go on!" he urged, stubbornly ignoring the icy coil in his gut.

"I will do my best," Tezuka finally said after giving in to the team's needling and Ryoma's urging, offering a tentative smile at Ryoma and his Mom.

Needless to say, he lost. As did everyone else.

"Your mother has played this before?" Inui asked, adjusting his glasses after his players had fallen head-over-tails trying to catch the lob Rinko's players had hit.

"Nah, we just got the system today," Ryoma said, "she's just naturally a genius at that."

"Then we need to have our tensai try, ne, Fuji?"

"Now, don't rush!" Fuji tried to defer, but his defeat was inevitable. He put up a better fight than anyone else- even going so far as to take the lead once, but eventually Rinko prevailed.

"You're amazing, Echizen-san!" Oishi said.

"It's just with this game," Ryoma told him. "You should see her lose at the coin collection thingy!"

"It's divine justice," his Mom laughed. "His father and he don't even play real tennis against me any more- Nanjiroh even goes as far as to say he can't hold back enough! I may be really out of practice, but it's only fair I win here if they're so mean to me otherwise!" The tennis players fell silent, not really knowing how to react to such a declaration. None of them were used to a wife calling her husband by his name like that.

Ryoma, sensing the change in moods quickly snatched the initiative, once again feeling a uncomfortably reminded of the likely difference in their family lives.

"We're not mean, Mom, just honest!" he shot back, mock-glaring at his Mom as she glared back at him, until they both dissolved into laughter.

"Well, I'll leave you kids to your games, then," she finally said. "I'll go prepare part one of our dinner- you're going to join us, of course!"She didn't leave room for objection, even though Kaidoh, Oishi and Kawamura tried anyways.

"It's no difference if I make food for two or eleven bottomless pits- that's the nature of infinity!" She told them, leaving Fuji smiling, Tezuka nodding in agreement, Inui scribbling in a notebook that came from who-knows-where, Ryoma rolling his eyes and a few of the less mathematically inclined shaking their heads in confusion.

"What?" Eiji asked. Oishi patiently tried to explain that two infinity didn't exist, while Inui showed him an equation, Kawamura (who went into burning mode when holding a controller) and Momoshiro duked it out in a fighting game, Tezuka watched that nothing broke and Fuji took some pictures with the camera he had brought along.

Ryoma's dad had fled the scene quite a while before, and to calm the chaos a little (Kaidoh had found Karupin and was playing with him under the table) Ryoma invited everybody up to his room.

"Ochibi's room? I wonder what that's like?" Eiji asked, glomping Ryoma before he could even go upstairs.

"Small," Ryoma choked out.

"Are these the trophies you won, Echizen?" Momoshiro asked, standing in front of a glass-walled cabinet in the hallway.

"No," Ryoma said.

"A few of them are your father's, right?" Fuji suggested.

"That's right," Ryoma said.

"He won thirty-seven major titles?" Tezuka asked. "I think I read something about that once."

"He did. Not all of them carried a trophy, though," Ryoma explained.

"Ah! That's your Open trophy, right?" Oishi pointed at the newest and largest gleaming cup on the center shelf.

"Yes," Ryoma said. "Mom insisted on putting it in the middle of everything."

"Well, you _are_ the youngest winner ever," Inui pointed out.

"How about we go up now?" Ryoma asked, feeling more and more ill at ease as his senpai studied the various American junior championship certificates that were hanging along the wall.

"Sure," Fuji offered easily, smiling a little more as they went past Ryoma's past achievements. Ryoma called Karupin (and, by default, Kaidoh), the cat following his human's voice despite it going against normal cat behavior.

"Welcome," Ryoma said, mock-bowing as he opened the door to his room. The bed was unmade, the desk strewn with last-minute studying from before the holidays, but all in all it was pretty orderly. There were tennis posters lining the walls and sloping ceiling.

"You like science, Echizen?" Inui asked, pointing to the periodic table over the door and the experiment kit on the shelf above Ryoma's desk.

"Favorite subject," Ryoma muttered, aware that Inui would probably use that information in his data collection.

While his teammates were busily exploring his room- especially Fuji, who was critically studying the family photo Ryoma had sitting on his nightstand, Ryoma contented himself sitting next to a red-eared Kaidoh and petting Karupin who was purring under all the attention he received.

"Say, Echizen, do you have a minute?" Fuji asked. Ryoma nodded, plopping Karupin down on Kaidoh's lap and following the team's genius out of the room.

"What's it, Fuji-senpai?" Ryoma asked, relaxing as the tensai kept up his smile.

"I just wanted to ask if you know what's up with Tezuka? He's been withdrawing more and more over the past weeks?"

"No idea," Ryoma said. Fuji nodded.

"I thought he might've played another game against you, so…"

"Nothing of that sorts."

"Hmm… thank you anyways, Echizen." Fuji turned around, and Ryoma almost sighed in relief.

"You've got an interesting family. Your dad's Samurai Nanjiroh, right?"

As if that hasn't been all over the media, Ryoma thought. He nodded only, though. Better not to make an enemy of Fuji!

"I heard he agreed to do a special training once the entrance exams are over." Fuji moves in mysterious ways, Ryoma decided.

"Wish everybody would forget about that already," he said, grimacing. "You don't want to know about Oyaji's special training methods."

"Will it be as amusing as the mountain training we did before the Nationals?" Fuji answered airily.

You have no idea, Ryoma thought, and that's only if we even get to the tennis. More likely he'll torture us by having us fetch the newest issue of Swimsuits in Hawaii or whatever.

"Swimsuits in Hawaii? I had no idea such a magazine even existed."

Ryoma's brows shot towards his hairline. He had no idea he had just spoken out loud.

"Don't worry, Echizen. You seem to still think in English. Unfortunately, my understanding of English is much better than my skills at the spoken language." Ryoma sighed.

"Don't tell the others. Kaidoh and Momoshiro are still of he opinion that the "perverted monk" broke into my home…"

"But won't that fly out the window at dinner?"

"I sure hope not! Oishi-senpai would probably call the police!"

"Saa, Echizen, I had no idea you were such a comic talent," Fuji chuckled.

"Che." The sound of something crashing, Karupin hissing and Momoshiro and Kaidoh shouting at each other startled the young tennis prodigy.

"I better check on these guys…" he murmured, leaving Fuji behind as he surveyed the destruction wrought in his room. The crash had been the mug that had been left on his desk. Karupin had left bloody scratches on Kaidoh and Momoshiro's hands and the two arch-rivals cum doubles partners were close to fisticuffs. Ryoma sighed.

"Maa, maa, calm down, everyone!" Fuji admonished from where he was leaning on the doorframe. "I think you should go be friends again before Tezuka assigns you laps until you die!"

"He would do no such thing!" Oishi protested indignantly. The captain looked as though he would rather be any place than in Ryoma's room.

"He will! He will!" Eiji fanned the fire. Ryoma grabbed Karupin, who had fled to hide behind his legs and the sleeve of his buchou, rescuing them from the mayhem that was sure to ensue.

"Let's go downstairs and play some more, buchou," he suggested, sensing that the slightly aloof and antisocial Tezuka was reaching his breaking point.

"Alright, Echizen," Tezuka answered, trying in vain to keep the relief from his voice.

Somehow, the house survived (relatively) intact until dinner, which to Ryoma's surprise involved Taka-san's father coming round to their house and serving all-you-can-eat sushi. Not even Kawamura-senpai had known that his father's evening appointment was with the Echizens, and the puzzled look on both the father and the son's faces was priceless (and captured by Fuji). Ryoma tried hiding from everything when his father joined the frantic fight for the single piece of sushi left on the tray (not that Kawamura-san wasn't already preparing more, but it was the principle of the matter, as Nanjiroh said), fleeing to Fuji and Tezuka's side. Fuji was a safe haven because nobody wanted his wasabi sushi anyway, and Tezuka was still the captain.

"Sorry, buchou, they're just too loud," he murmured exhaustedly and slipped into the seat.

"No way! No way, you perverted monk!"

"This piece of eel is mine!"

"Mine!"

"Hahahaaa! You'll have to get up earlier to beat the great Samurai Nanjiroh!"

"I get it," Tezuka said.

"Wait a minute- Samurai Nanjiroh?!?"

"Oh no, here it goes." Ryoma let his head drop into his folded arms.

"Ha! Where did you think the kid got his skills?" His Dad stabbed his chopsticks in Ryoma's direction. "Even though he's still mada mada…"

"Don't say it, Oyaji!" Ryoma hissed, his hair standing on end like Karupin's.

"He's your dad?"

"No wayyyy! Oishi! The monk who stole my eel is ochibi's dad!"

"Fssshhh… that true, Echizen?"

"Didn't you ever compare the pictures? It was a 98 percent possibility that the monk here is the same Samurai Nanjiroh."

"He looked different on TV!"

"10 laps, everyone!"

"Thank you, buchou."

"Happy birthday, Echizen."

テニプリ

It had taken a while for the Regulars to run their laps (funnily enough, the perimeter around the house and temple almost equaled the one around the Seigaku tennis courts), but soon enough the party was in full swing again. Ryoma's Mom had had her hands full trying to keep her husband from getting the kids drunk ("He looks like an adult!" his Dad had whined, pointing at Tezuka. "Where's the harm?"), every last piece of fish in the house had been consumed, as had Ryoma's two birthday cakes (Eiji and his Mom's) and all the snacks his Mom could find. The living room floor was strewn with discarded articles of clothing- Ryoma's Dad had suggested to Kaidoh and Momoshiro that they should settle their differences with an arm-wrestling match that had quickly pulled all the other regulars in as well. Soon enough, all-out war had ensued. Ryoma and Fuji had been the least successful, due to their slighter stature, while Taka-san had won easily.

Ryoma's Mom had finally decided to collect phone numbers and had called all the varsity team's parents, as she deemed it too late to let them make their way home. Kawamura-san had been informed directly, of course, since he hadn't allowed her to let him off kitchen cleaning duty. "A professional should always keep his workspace orderly," he quoted while scrubbing down the counter.

Far from being upset, the regulars' parents had gladly allowed them to stay the night, which was why Ryoma's Dad had had to raid his closet to find enough pyjamas for everybody since Ryoma's wouldn't fit anyone but him. Shortly after midnight, the house was silent save for the snores of nine teenage boys. The Echizen parents tiptoed around re-stringing the Christmas lights and hanging up all the decoration again. Nanjiroh brought in the Christmas tree from the backyard, and it, too, was decorated and set up to put the presents underneath.

"Time for Santa to work his magic," Nanjiroh hummed as he piled up the family's Christmas gifts.

"Time for Santa to go to sleep," Rinko yawned, exhausted from the demands that feeding and supervising the birthday party had been.

"Mrs. Santa, too," Nanjiroh chuckled, slinging her over his shoulder.

"Nan-ji-roh!" she whispered, but didn't dare do anything against him for fear of waking up the sleeping horde as she was carried upstairs and dumped on the bed.

Finally, nothing was stirring anymore in the Echizen household.

テニプリ

* * *

…_**tbc …**_

* * *

_I'm very sorry to say that this probably will be the last update until after the holidays. I'm flying off on Friday to join my parents in A Faraway Land Where There Is No Internet Freedom in celebration of our yearly Funny Family Fest. I don't know if I'll be able to update from there, but I'll do my best to write more BB through all the chaos that is (all) my family congregating in one spot for an extended time. Have a Happy Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza or Whatever and a Wonderful New Year! Please stay happy and healthy and enjoy your time (with your family?)!  
_


	6. Breaking through

_No, I haven't forgotten about this story. My poor darling muse was just almost killed by the torture my 11-and-14 year-old cousins inflicted on her (and me). I've learned to appreciate HSM- it ends. There are things that aren't as nice… my eardrums may never recover._

_It kind of went on until exam time came around... and now it's once more the time where I have to work on being a good fencer._

_But enough of my holiday tales, it's time to delve into a different kind of story with… the disclaimer. Even though there's quasi no legal benefit to doing this, here goes nothing:_

_In accordance with what constitutes "fair use" as set down in 17 U.S.C. §107 I claim no rights in or to the characters and concepts created by Konomi Takeshi. No commercial advantage is derived from aforementioned works by this fanfiction author. This holds equally true for all the sequences ("chapters") of writing before and after the following. _

_Now that the legal mumbo jumbo is out of the way for the rest of this story, let's continue with the chapter!

* * *

  
_

_Chapter 06:_ **Breaking through  


* * *

**

Following his memorable thirteenth birthday and the equally memorable Christmas morning that came afterwards- breakfast with his senpai was something Ryoma quite honestly did not care to repeat anytime soon. From the sleepy (himself) to the morning people (Tezuka and Kaidoh) and everything in between, it had been a colossal mix of mayhem and destruction. Two bathrooms simply weren't enough to accommodate all of them, even with their spaced-out waking times. Then there was the matter that, even though his Mom could make a mean toast in almost no time, almost no time lost against the time in which the toast was being consumed- no time.

When, finally, the last of his teammates had closed the door behind himself- and Ryoma's Mom had quit her muttering about "Why don't they just apologize about having been born, the global hunger problem and the ice age?" Ryoma felt ready to fall into a coma. His Dad seemed to thrive under these conditions, though (seriously- who was the teenager here?) and had quickly gathered the veritable mountain of dishes and dumped them in the sink before singing out about about Christmas presents and the need to open them.

Nanako, who had slept in and only awoken a few minutes ago, nodded sleepily into her tea and didn't even react to the teasing Nanjiroh bestowed upon her. Ryoma put in a few words of his own, mostly to do with where she had gone and how the crowds around the Shinjuku Christmas tree had been. Nanako blushed just a little, but while she was ignoring the older Echizen she answered Ryoma's question easily and in detail. Soon enough, Ryoma lost interest in teasing her and wandered off to clear the last vestiges of his teammates' stay from his room.

The presents had been set under the tree when he came back down, carrying a bag full of trash. His Mom had prepared the turkey and had even found a real, live (almost) mistletoe to hang over their shoji door to the entrance hallway. His Dad was doing the monkey act on the chair he had pulled up to hang the mistletoe, standing one-legged on the backrest and swaying back and forth in time with the Christmas song spewing blaringly loud from the portable radio he was balancing on his nose.

"You're really trying your luck, Dad," Ryoma said, falling back into English as was the family's practice when Nanako wasn't around or immediately concerned.

"Gwuagh!" was the only answer he got as his Dad lost his balance and fell down- only to land safely in the finishing position of an Olympic gymnast. "Hep! What did you say, seishounen?"

"Forget it," Ryoma said, turning to leave.

"Hey now, nothing of this, young man," Nanjiroh admonished in his still heavily accented English. "The Hungry Huns have left, so what's eating you, now?" He grinned at his own joke.

"Get it? Hungry Huns? Eating?" he repeated in Japanese when Ryoma didn't react.

"Che, you're not even half as funny as you think you are, Oyaji. And it's just that… have you decided yet where we're going to spend New Year's? I was thinking of maybe mailing Kevin and the guys from school…"

"I thought you should finally get to know a real Shogatsu, Ryoma," his Dad answered. "Believe me, it's amazing."

"Right," Ryoma said, though he really had no idea what it was his Dad wanted him to get to know.

"It's the New Year's holiday season. We're going to party until the third day of the year!"

"So?"

"Get some nice ladies… like that granddaughter of the old hag maybe? She's cute, right?"

"She's useless. She's got some nice training equipment but doesn't do anything with it. What a waste. I'm going to ask Mom if we can't go home."

"Your Mom's going to be busy for the next three days. There's a lot to finalize at the office before the change of years."

"Doesn't mean she won't be OK with us going back anyway."

"Hey, what is it, Ryoma? Didn't you just have the best birthday of your life, with all your friends coming by?"

"What do they know about me?"

"A lot more now than they did before. Admit it, Ryoma, you're not the most open and easy person to get to know," his Mom entered the discussion, stirrer still in hand. "And I really can't leave the country when there's so much work to do still. I have to do some last-minute accounting for our department."

"Che." Ryoma slumped down on the living room couch, sulking.

"Don't worry, we're going to see all our friends in the States next summer."

"Don't care."

"Aw, seishounen… if you continue making that face, Santa will take all of your presents away."

"Don't care."

"Then you won't mind if I just take them instead… let's see… this one looks like a new game for your system! I think I'm going to like it."

"Give it here, Dad!"

"Don't wanna!"

"Give it!"

"Come get it!"

"Cut it out, you two! There's no need to ruin our flatware!"

"Yes, Mom!" "Yes, dear!"

Typical. His Dad just had to get him into trouble, and now they wouldn't be allowed to open any presents until after lunch, which would be simply bread and assorted cold things. Ryoma sulked a little, again, but Nanako had tried her best to smuggle some Japanese food into lunch, so soon he had to descend to his Dad's level again as the two engaged into a vicious chopstick fight over the last octopus sausage, glaring at each other all the while Nanako was giggling beside Ryoma.

"I'd have really never believed that living with your family could be this… exciting," she said. Ryoma knew she had moved in because his new house was closer to her college, and she would save on rent and food cost, too, but he had grown used to having one more addition to the family, even if it was an addition that so far hadn't dared to enter their banter in earnest.

"You think so? I'd love to be rid of this old man," he pointed at his Dad.

"Ryoma!" Nanako gasped. "You can't say things like that!"

"Just did, didn't I?"

"Yes, seishounen. You have to spread the family love on Christmas."

"If I see you doing it, I'm going to join in."

"Boys!"

"Yes Mom!" "Yes, my love!"

Their behavior was like watching a Swiss watch tick, Ryoma thought- inevitably, his family would descend into friendly squabbles that would seem like fights to outsiders. It was the way they kept their life interesting, even though in a harmony-obsessed society like the one he was living in now it would seem very strange and rather weird. He did not know it any other way, but Nanako still learned not to be afraid of their disputes descending into physical violence, just as Ryoma had had to get used to spending all his classes with the exception of sports in a single classroom.

It was a weird feeling of disorientation he experienced whenever he came into contact with people born and raised in the country. What passed as normal, friendly behavior for him seemed to communicate insolence, aggressiveness and disrespect. The abilities that had made him an exceptional student at his American primary school had made him into a very much disliked student here. Not only did he have a lot of reading to catch up to (honestly, who would read Japanese classics while at school in the US?), his kanji knowledge wasn't what it should be either. He could read and write on the usual level, but the instinctive knowledge the other kids in his class had when it came to learning new kanji couldn't be imitated.

Ryoma shook his head, frowning as his parents kissed (and Nanako hid her face with a weird eep-ing sound). He wondered if he would always be on the outside looking in. He knew he could not follow all the rules, not when nobody told them to him. Just as he had earned his first black marks in school by standing up to a teacher, he felt he was earning them in interpersonal relationships as well. Even in the US his blunt manner when criticizing someone had been met with a scoff and a shake of the head, but here? He could not have imagined being invisible until he had put one of the girls in his class under scrutiny for commenting that her skirt was too short and her face too painted for him to like her. His classmates had taken her side, even though she had thrown herself at Ryoma with everything (and more) than she had, giving him the cold shoulder and ignoring him to an extent that had him wonder if he had turned into glass.

Nobody could tell him not to be himself, though. Swooping in, he quickly snatched up the coveted last piece of food on the platter, leaning back and munching in satisfaction.

"Oi!"

"Mada mada dane."

Christmas should, after all, be a day of celebration, especially for the kids. And with presents to look forward to this small triumph seemed so much larger.

テニプリ

The King of Monkey Mountain had done it again. Ryoma didn't know how, but every single sports center he went to in search of some ball machines was chock-full of Hyoutei students. Not that he thought the ridiculous diva had inflated his tennis club to beyond bearable, oh no! So what were all these Atobe-in-trainings doing clogging up his desired training opportunities?

"Looking for the successor of our buchou," was the most common explanation. "A bit of self-training" followed closely behind. He scoffed at their efforts and joined the queue when even the last, dingy ball machine was booked an hour in advance. The excellent Christmas dinner his Mom had made needed to be somehow digested, after all, and since there was no way to play outside after the heavy snowfall of the last few days there was no other choice (the indoor courts were mostly members only, or booked to the brim). He also needed to check his reach, after all he knew that he had changed in a way he could no longer ignore.

Ryoma first noticed that he had gotten taller when he kept bumping his head on the open doors of the overhead cupboards in their kitchen. He was used to just pulling out a glass (his Mom had made him promise not to drink from the carton on pain of death!), walking underneath the cupboard to the fridge and filling it time after time with whatever juice Nanako or his Mom stocked at the moment. When the third day of consecutive head-banging had annoyed him to no end he stole Nanako's tape measure and decided to see for himself if he had really grown. After quite a bit of juggling involving a pencil, a book, three stabbed toes, two stabbed fingers, some graphite smears on the bathroom door and a tear in Nanako's tape measure (Ryoma swore that was Karupin's fault. The cat had wound around his ankles so much that he had been distracted and had managed to rip the measuring equipment with the sharp pencil tip) he had finally managed to make a line at approximately the height of his head sans hair. Quickly reading off the numbers, he stored the tape measure back in Nanako's sewing basket (he hadn't known that there were girls who still had something like that. None of the girls he had known in the US had ever been into sewing or cooking as much as those here in Japan seemed to be. It was much more important being a good cook here, which of course appealed to Ryoma's animalistic (i.e. hungry after practice or a match) side).

His Mom kept his medical files in her study. Due to his (admittedly brief) career as a (semi-)professional athlete he had been excused from the usually compulsory health exam at school, his US Open sports medicine certificate being enough to satisfy the records. Checking what he had just measured against his records, he found out that he had, in fact, grown a little less than an inch in the months since the tournament. The noticeable growth, while welcome, had also led to other problems like stabbing his toe on every single piece of furniture in sight (they were moving. They really were!) and managing to break not one, but three glasses because he miscalculated when placing down a carton of juice. To be on top of his game, he would need to check whether this sudden growth spurt had any effects on the way he could handle his racket. He would not have his dad laughing at him for swinging around wildly!

Finally, the hopeless Hyoutei student in front of him vacated the training area with an air of abject defeat that had Ryoma grinning in satisfaction. It would not do to have a worthy rival replaced by such a failure. Grabbing his racket out of its sleeve, he quickly fed the required coins into the ball machine so it would send more than one round of top-speed balls at him. These Hyoutei guys were all mada mada if they hadn't found out about that trick yet.

Taking a deep breath (and firmly telling himself that he was _not nervous_ at all!), he decided to start off with his dominant hand. The tennis balls that came speeding at him were just a blur, but his hand-eye coordination was up to the task, and the racket connected with a solid thwack-twang. Not so difficult, right? He started moving up and down the line, easily returning the shots to one single spot right underneath the machine's spout.

"Did you see that? This kid's great!" the buchou-candidate that had been training before Ryoma shouted. Ryoma flinched and ignored the murmurs behind him as he upped the ante and switched hands. His right hand was not quite as coordinated as his left, and he missed his racket's sweet spot quite a few times, changing the ball's direction with pure strength only so it would still fly towards the target area. The twinge of his shoulder muscles informed him that his tactic was not quite healthy, so after a lull (there would have to be more balls fed into the machine) he concentrated on keeping his form intact, even though that meant the balls went all over the place.

"He's hitting the right half every time!" the Hyoutei kids enthused. "We should try recruiting him for our club. He's probably going to start Junior High this spring!"

"Che!" With all the strength he could muster, Ryoma smashed the next shot into the wall so that it cracked the plaster a little and stayed stuck.

"I'm done here," he stated, racket over his shoulder. "Try not to get hit by the rest of the shots left in the machine!"

"Oi! You! Chibi!" Ryoma's eye twitched. He had grown!

"Not a chibi," he muttered defiantly, wiping the frame of his racket with a soft cloth (he did not change them as often as the pros did, using it through training and more than one game).

"Yeah, sure. Say, you got your school picked out already? We could help you gain a scholarship for Hyoutei!"

"Already done that."

"Now, now, don't be so shy! You don't need to fear us!"

"I don't."

"Aw, aren't you ashamed? Being so unfriendly to us soon-to-be third years?"

"No. I'm already enrolled in Junior High."

"Shame! Just think about it, ne? We have a very good escalator system up to university!"

"Mada mada dane. Tell the Monkey King I said hi!"

"Monkey King? Who's that?" Their prey had vanished, though, leaving nothing but an empty can of grape Ponta behind.

テニプリ

The winter holidays had passed much too soon for morning hater Ryoma, and without realizing it the time for him to be woken by the harsh beeping of his alarm clock had come again. It was still biting cold outside, the temperatures well under the average for the season. Most ponds and lakes had frozen over, and the last remnants of the massive snowfall shortly after Christmas still hadn't sublimated. Seigaku's roof, Ryoma's favorite retreat, was still buried under an inch or so of cold, white snow, frosty flowers bloomed on the entrance doors every morning and not even the track team would practice outside.

The tennis team's training had been much reduced, even more than before the break. Right now, all third-years were in the last throes of studying as madly as they could manage for entrance exams while the rest of the school tried to avoid them where possible so as not to get caught up in their nervous vibe- if they even came to school at all.

The regulars gathered in the training hall, as every school morning. The third-years had officially quit active participation in club activities and even school altogether since attendance for them was no longer mandatory, but they couldn't be kept away from their tennis club. Fuji seemed to be especially satisfied to escape cramming formulae into his head by going to every single tennis club training that had been announced. He had even taken to tricking everybody into thinking that there was training when there was none by means of strategically spread rumors.

"Seishun Gakuen regular team," Tezuka announced, standing proudly in front of the laid-back troupe that was his team. "We have a special treat today for all of you. It has been decided that today's training will be led by none other than one of the greatest tennis players in the history of Japan- Echizen Nanjiroh. Please do your best to work with him."

Ryoma almost gave in to his urge to start whimpering and crawl into a corner to remain unseen as his dad jumped out from behind a basket full of tennis balls, both hands raised in a victory pose.

"Yo! Seishounen-tachi! 'sup?"

The regulars, who had straightened up in anticipation collapsed in mortification.

"He's the same playing tennis as he's at home?" Momo whispered. Ryoma nodded.

"It's different if you manage to get him to be serious but… good luck with that, Momo-senpai," he mocked.

"Oi! You! My son! Breaking rank already with your whispering! You'll serve as my demonstration partner for this exhibitionist convention!"

"Exhibition training, Nan-ji-roh!" Ryuzaki-sensei, who had been quietly standing behind Tezuka until then announced, stepping forward with her hand dangerously close to the ear of the former tennis star.

"What, now you're even against innocent jokes and fun, you old hag?" Ryoma's dad whined. Ryoma hid his face behind his cap as he bent to retrieve his racket from his bag. The regulars looked on dumbfounded.

"Hora, hora! We don't have time to lose! There's only one hour and you'll be joined by the rest of your club. Let me see your level first… whoever gets a point from me will get to sit out the thirty laps I'm assigning as warm-up. Not you, Ryoma- you're running no matter what."

"Che, playing favorites, Oyaji?"

"Taking care nobody will accuse me of it! Now, come on, who goes first? Nobody?" It seemed as though even Tezuka had become more of a stone-faced person than he had ever been. Ryoma sighed.

"Why don't we show them how it's done, Dad? Three points match?"

"You're on, seishounen! Do your worst!"

Ryoma was angry enough to fire off his best shots right in the beginning, taking two points from his father and making him whine to extend the match to best-three-out-of-five.

"You said we just had to take one point from you," Ryoma pointed out, knowing that if their match went on it could go either way.

"Stupid kid, always playing Rinko's son when you should be playing mine…" his dad murmured. "Who's next?" he then shouted out loud, startling the regulars into quickly lining up behind their captain.

"Oh, the kid captain? Should be interesting enough! I'll give you a handicap and play with one eye closed."

"Let's have a good match, Echizen-senshu," Tezuka replied. Ryoma hit his face with his palm. Tezuka's politeness would set his dad even more on fire than he already was.

"Ha! You think you can win with that weak version of my Echizen Zone? Here, I'll show you how it's done!"

"Oi, Echizen… they've been playing for that single point for ten minutes now," Momo said. Ryoma nodded.

"And since it's my Dad he'll be keeping the ball in play for another ten, trying to exhaust our buchou or make him play out his weakness."

"He's a devious player, your dad. But I won't lose that easily to him, no I won't."

"I'll just confuse him so much he won't know where to place the shot anymore!" Eiji shouted, blurring into two shadows of himself where he stood.

"That's no use against Dad, I'm sorry, Eiji-senpai. He used to play me with both his eyes closed."

"Nya, both eyes closed? How did he do that?"

"Echizen-senshu is a superior player with an almost unmatched tennis sense. His aural and tactile senses will compensate for the loss of his eyesight."

"Inui-senpai is right. It's hard work making that old man play seriously. Look at how he's playing buchou," Ryoma said lowly. Secretly, he felt proud of his father for keeping their captain in check like he did, but seeing the regulars stare in open awe was starting to annoy him. Just then, Nanjiroh decided he'd had enough of the false-sincere style he'd been portraying all this time. Ryoma watched in horror as he started pulling out his between-the-legs or over-your-shoulder shots, returning Tezuka's shots with enough force to slowly break the Tezuka Zone.

"Oyaji!" he hissed in anger, watching Kaidou's face transform from rapt admiration to open puzzlement, while Eiji was bouncing up and down in excitement over the display of "acrobatics".

"He's making Tezuka-buchou run around? That can't be good, no, absolutely not!" Momo muttered. "Oi, Kaidou! You show the old man how it's done!"

"What? What are you trying to say, peach-butt?" Kaidou hissed dangerously, forgoing watching Ryoma's dad play with his usual antics in favor of a nice warm-up fight against his arch-rival.

"You're the resident stamina freak, aren't you? We can't have you losing in such a match, not really, right?"

"Fsshhh! I'll teach you how to lose!"

Inui was busily taking notes, Oishi watching in horror as Ryoma's father took the first point against their captain with almost nonchalant ease.

"Oi, kid-captain! Try not being so stiff, maybe then you'll have better luck? I can show you a very good way to relax a little!" Nanjiroh waggled his eyebrows.

"OYAJI!"

"Stop being so uptight, seishounen- hep!" He played on. "Nobody loves an uncute kid like you!"

"Che. Stupid old man. Get me when he's done, Momo-senpai?"

"Don't worry, I'll tell him," Fuji smiled at Ryoma. "They're rather busy at the moment."

"Make him go serious, Fuji-senpai," Ryoma said, walking towards the vending machines. No need to continue watching his dad slaughter his teammates.

"He's so easy to see through," he heard Fuji mutter and scowled. Stupid Fuji should try living with the tennis maniac called his father. Once he had been challenged to a match in sub-zero temperatures and dunked in freezing water because his father had forgotten that there was a pond on the ground of his sister-in-law's house in Baltimore. The resultant cold had not kept his dad from dragging him out again the next day, saying that hitting balls while sneezing would be a good exercise in control. Stupid old man.

テニプリ

Ryoma kept to himself for most of the day afterward. He did not really want to go home to the needling he knew his father would give him over the skill level of his teammates and how serious the third-years must be to come playing now even though there was no incentive to, and how desolate the state of the team would be after they left, and how Ryoma would have to go and play all five games in a tournament alone in order to prevent a catastrophic loss.

It wasn't like he didn't know that his fellow first-years still had troubles distinguishing between holding their rackets open (as wanted for a lob or high volley) or closed (for a sharp return close to the net). The simple (in theory) thirty-degree angle turned into one huge question mark for them, especially when combined with the usual lectures on open and closed stances. Apart from that, their stamina was still lacking and they were rather content with leaving the showing off to their seniors. Their loud mouthes made up for their lack of skill, anyway- at least Ryoma thought they were convinced of that.

The un-anointed prince of the sport of tennis snorted. Maybe, if Horio kept up training his word-work he would be able to send a tennis ball back over the net with the hot air spouting from him. It wasn't like the inane screaming illness would stop running rampant anytime soon.

Ryoma wished he knew a cure for it, but whenever he tried talking to his teammates about tennis all he got were more and more requests to help with English now that the final exams of the year were approaching. Horio in particular had turned into one spectacular example of the "begging machine".

"Just leave me alone and start studying!" he finally shot sharply at the stuttering pig-tailed girl who insisted on following him around together with her loud-mouthed friend. The girls started sputtering, Ryuzaki's niece coloring an alarming shade of red.

"What? If you can't do simple introductions and talking about your favorite subjects at school there's no use in asking me to help you- that's so basic everyone except the most boneheaded will get it! All you need to do is memorize a few phrases!"

"Echizen! You shouldn't be picking on your classmates! They came asking you for help- politely!"

"No, they didn't," Ryoma muttered, "they came to annoy me until I would give in and just play tape recorder for them, repeating things until they finally get him. Shouting at me and hanging onto my body does not count among politeness in my opinion, sensei."

"Nevertheless you should not put them down the way you continue doing, Echizen. Your classmates ask for your help, so you should give it to them to show your spirit of community with them!"

"Well, how about them trying to better themselves for the better of the community first?" Ryoma shot back belligerently, already put out at the thought of having accepted Katsuo, Kachiro and Horio's begging for tutoring after what promised to be one more useless practice session in the afternoon.

"Echizen!" The students that had gathered around the dying-in-shame pigtailed girl, her friend and the arguing parties gasped. His English teacher, who was already foaming over Ryoma's mastery of the language _he_ was supposed to be the master at was looking livid now- livid enough to make Ryoma's life a lot more difficult.

"If you're deliberately looking for trouble, nobody will help you, you know, Echizen?" He said, a calculating glint in his eyes. Ryoma's mouth was set in a grim line, he already knew the lecture that would be forthcoming. "It seems as though even though your classmates have chosen you as their leader you're unteachable in this regard, Echizen. Follow me to the headmaster's office, please."

Ryoma nodded. Just like the petty vindictiveness of the small-spirited to put down those that called them out on their character. Leader? He wasn't even the class spokesperson!

"Please, sensei," a small voice suddenly spoke up. The Ryuzaki girl was standing in front of Ryoma, her hands clasped into fists at her side and a determined if frightened look on her face. "Ryoma-sam... san didn't do anything wrong, sensei. It was Tomo-chan and me who were pest... pestering him. We... we're at fault, sensei, so please don't punish Ryoma-san for something w...we did!"

Astonished, Ryoma could hardly do more than blink. He had thought coach Ryuzaki's niece was little more than a cardboard character of shyness and devotion, and here she was standing up for him? After a quick elbow to the side, her marginally-better-at-tennis friend nodded.

"It's as Sakuno-chan says. We went a little too far in asking for help, sensei."

The English teacher frowned, obviously not pleased at the turn of events. "Alright, I will let it slide this time, Ryuzaki, Osakada. Echizen, I suggest you really think over your attitude, or your classmates will not be there to help you when you need them."

Ryoma gave a bored "Yes, sensei", even though his foul mood had only worsened he grit his teeth and held in the host of expletives that wanted to burst from his lips.

"If it hadn't been for these two idiots there wouldn't have been any trouble to help me out of!" he finally raged into an empty classroom after he had pulled the door closed behind him. He trembled with frustration and anger, the ineffectual training of the past weeks and the panicked atmosphere permeating the school right before the exams taking their toll on even his normally even temper. He himself was trying to do his best in studying- but the frantic, hopeless air his yearmates exhibited was too foreign to him. They had had several written tests over the course of the year- hadn't the others learned the material then?

Plopping down onto the floor after hammering his right hand into the wall with all his strength Ryoma buried his head in his knees. It was far too exhausting trying to deal with people on top of the tennis, he decided. With the team threatening to break to pieces he honestly felt there was nothing binding him to Seigaku anymore- he could really stand living without the yammering of his teachers, Horio, his so-called "fan club" and the constant attention.

Maybe there was such a thing as homeschooling in Japan. He would have to ask his mom.

テニプリ

* * *

…_**tbc …

* * *

  
**_

_Spring tournament season is approaching fast. I really have to train myself up a little more since I decided to go back on the fencing team. I found that I still love running sooo much- a lot of the time I used to spend writing has been spent on the trails around the park in my neighborhood so far. I'm woefully out of shape- after an hour of running, everything hurts. It's still wonderful to see Nature prepare for its awakening, though. It's been raining the past few days, and a lot of birds now come out to search for seeds and worms. It's so much fun to run past them! I've had a phase when I was virtually addicted to running when I was still in high school, and I feel like it's coming back again. I can study while running (especially my languages), so I've been making a lot of MP3s from my textbooks. My voice sounds so weird when I hear it recorded!_

_Anyways, since I don't think my training schedule's going to get any less busy and I still have a few exams to write I can't really tell when the next update's going to be. I'm so sorry! ATP are, as usual, in my profile and I hope you enjoyed this chapter and might leave me a comment? The nice green writing is beckoning! Green means Go!_


	7. Breaking balls

_I really have no excuse for taking two years to post. Just know that I'm stumbling back onto my feet, slowly but steadily, and am going to get back into the groove of writing and posting. Lots and lots of liberties taken with both some selection processes as well as tournament structures. Sorry to all those in the know! Here comes the monster, otherwise known as..._

* * *

_Chapter 07: __**Breaking balls**_

* * *

He had become the single most sought-after person at Seishun Gakuen. Ryoma had found several hidey-holes not even Fuji had known existed when, spurred by the glowing endorsement of the first years, the rest of the school joined in on the badgering for English tutoring bandwagon. He had been hunted down by third-year girls trying to throw underwear at him in a final, desperate bid to get him to give them the time of the day. His mom had thankfully let him call in ill for the rest of the week.

He spent the break on the courts with his father, keeping his style and form up for when the season would start again and drawing quite a crowd with their high-octane matches. He also found some little back-country Futures' series tournament starting the next month down in tropical Okinawa and had tentatively put forward his intent to register for it. His ranking was seriously suffering from the lack of official matches played, after all, and the offer to play (once again as a wild card) in Kyoto's March Challengers' Series, or even the World Tour 500 Japan Open would not remain open if he didn't show he was present and accounted for as a player.

Ryoma was more than aware of his whacked-up standing in the tennis world. As the winner of one of the Grand Slams, not to mention someone who wasn't even of an age to register on the radar of a follower of the sport he had still temporarily displaced the world's number one (not in ranking points, just, well, by winning)- for a total of the few weeks it took for the top contestants to just bump him back down to where he really belonged by playing in the Masters Series and forgetting about the "pint-sized upstart". The points won in that single Grand Slam definitely put him within the Top 100 ranked players, but he was still an unknown teenager from Japan with a spotty track record of American Junior championships and a middle school national tournament team win. He hadn't even rejoined the Junior Circuit yet!

The interest other players might take in him was more or less that of the alpha male sniffing out their adolescent competition, he thought. He had put a blight on some players' records. He had managed to make himself more or less a household name with his Ponta campaign, and there were quite a few more ad interests in the wings.

And still... there was nothing, nothing at all he could do about his problems at school, which had started up as soon as he had shown his face inside the gates on Monday morning. The cold had sublimated most, if not all the snow and ice that had fallen over the Christmas holidays, and left behind an almost surreal landscape of icy remnants and biting silence.

"Echizen!" "Oi, Ryoma!" "You're back and healthy!" Screams were following him around while he nodded politely to all the people addressing him, having not the slightest clue who they might be. He had an inkling that one or two shared a class with him, but they had so far managed to leave their idol-worship on the members of the baseball and soccer teams(1) as well as the one person in one of the higher classes who was a member of one band or another signed under a certain idol makers' junior label, or a TV starlet or something. Now he had been pushed into that group, bit by bit, as people discovered about tennis, the team's win carried them higher and Japanese middle school students realized the importance of a Grand Slam.

"O-chi-bi! Good morning!" Ryoma turned around, one corner of his mouth quirking up almost imperceptibly.

"Kikumaru-senpai? What are you doing around the school?"

"I can't just study all day! They have me doing one and the same Math exercise over and over and over because I just don't get it and I want to move on... Oishi doesn't want to listen, and so I thought I'd find my Ochibi because Fuji won't tell me anything but to study more again."

"I see."

"Nah, you hear, Ochibi, you hear! I'll be cruising the school, so make sure you come up to the roof during break, OK?"

"Eh? Sure. I... I'll be there. No notice as to training this week, is there?"

"The captain will hold the usual training Wednesday afternoon, but otherwise... it's all up to you yourselves during this stressful time." Kikumaru sighed dramatically. "Oh how I wish exams were _over _already!"

"I think we all do, Kikumaru-senpai," Ryoma said, smiling at the stressed-out redhead. Poor Kikumaru-senpai seemed to take the exams hardest out of all the third-years, even though he didn't really have to. His grade average was enough to get him into Seigaku's high school.

"See you around later then, Echizen?"

"Sure."

Ryoma set his cap on top of his shoes in his locker and pulled on his school slippers. He had hoped to escape the writhing masses here, but even arriving early did little to diminish the stream of students flooding Seigaku. His school might be middle-sized (no comparison to Hyoutei and their mammoth student body, certainly!) but there were still too many people on too little room for Ryoma's liking.

"Morning, Echizen," some of the more friendly people greeted, their uniform assigning them to all three years. Ryoma always greeted back, but somehow most of them never seemed content with his manner of answering a simple casual greeting. He shrugged off the colder stares of some of the other students, especially some third-year girls centered around an overly made-up, doll-like person (who might have been a girl underneath all that glitter).

Flattening his bangs as good as possible, Ryoma walked to class a solitary figure. He had taken to avoiding the non-tennis club first years a lot, their ineptitude in all areas he considered important getting more and more on his nerves. This being the last week before the third-years' high school entrance exams, they were hyped up beyond belief- and, in turn, added to the nervousness of all the other years. Ryoma snorted. These tests were a simple matter of passing or not, it wasn't as though any employer would ever look at a class standing of his first year in middle school. He didn't get why most of his year-mates seemed to take them as a matter of life or death, the buzzing rumor mill reporting the incident of one member of class 1-C who had needed to be hospitalized with a severe case of stress-induced exhaustion. Seriously, these people should try playing the US Open. They would...

"Echizen. You shall tutor me in English."

"No."

Ryoma didn't turn around to face the next petitioner for tutoring in English nor did he speak Japanese. The imperatively impertinent shrill voice had grated on his ears enough anyway.

"It's an order from the principal," was the next offensive. Ryoma sighed, finally leaning against a wall and waiting for the speaker to face him.

"Since when can the principal order a student to tutor another student without a precedent misbehavior or agreement by said student?" he asked wearily. Last week must have been a dream...

"Since this is a matter of school-wide importance!" the glittery person from before crowed. Ryoma winced, the beginnings of a headache pounding behind his eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Nakamura Kimiko," the other answered, identifying herself as a girl after all.

"Hn." Ryoma thought he had heard her name before, finally lighting upon her as the person the news had made him out to be in love with. She was more than likely the one behind the rumors, he surmised.

"You know, you could ask me how filming is going?"

"Filming?"

"My evening series?"

"Ah."

"OK... Ryoma-kun- you don't mind if I call you that, do you? No? Thanks. Anyway, we're going to meet up Wednesday afternoon for tutoring."

"No."

"What do you mean, no? That's the best for me!"

"I have training that day."

"So? Just skip. S'not as though there were any tournament to prepare for."

"I will not miss tennis practice."

"Alright, alright... you're really as impossible as everybody says. Well, then... find me after training. Bye."

"Hn." Ryoma didn't see any use in protesting any of the girl's assumptions. She was rather forceful if dumb. A matter of school-wide importance, sure.

* * *

テニプリ

* * *

Lunch break on the icy roof with Kikumaru was fun. The acrobatics specialist had him sliding around from one banister to the other after him when he stole his hat, and once Ryoma was red-faced and out of breath he even cracked a real smile. Kikumaru looked as though he had just won the lottery jackpot, thumping Ryoma on the back and slipped his hat back on haphazardly, giving himself a static electricity shock in the process.

The two teenagers simply leaned back against the fence around the rooftop afterwards, slowing down a little.

"Thanks, Echizen." Kikumaru looked unexpectedly serious. Ryoma's eyes widened, giving him the appearance of a startled cat.

"What for?" he asked a little testily.

"Winning the Nationals for us... being a member of this team... making my final middle school year so much more interesting among others?"

"Don't think I did it for you, Kikumaru-senpai," Ryoma replied, perhaps unsure himself whether earnestly or in jest.

"I know you didn't do it for me," Kikumaru replied, his joker's smile back in place. "I just thought you should hear it from at least one person who's been involved in the whole thing."

"Thanks," Ryoma mumbled. "You were amazing, too. Your afterimage technique on the courts... I don't think my Dad has ever seen something like it."

"Still didn't help me get a single point."

"You got him to open one eye. It took me five years to get him there."

"Aww... ochibi's jealous!"

"Am not."

"Sure, sure..." Kikumaru jumped off the fence, sliding back towards the entrance to the staircase. "I think it's time you called me Eiji now."

"Eiji. Hmm..." Ryoma looked down. The floor had no answers scribbled on it except for a single gang sign sprayed on the plates.

"I'm Ryoma," he finally replied.

"Nah. You'll stay ochibi. It fits you."

"'m not that small. You all are freakishly tall. I'll get there, though."

"NO! My ochibi cannot grow! You must stay this cute!"

"No. One day I'll definitely outgrow you."

"And don't speak English with me! I can't understand you at all when you do!"

"Che. Then you had better come to training on Wednesday. I'm tutoring some other student afterwards, so you can tag along as well."

"Thanks ochibi!" He was hugged and got his hair (with his hat on) ruffled again. "I'll tell Oishi and the others!" Kikumaru- no, Eiji- jumped off the landing, easily reaching his goal one floor lower.

"This wasn't an open invitation," Ryoma grumbled, but couldn't really be angry. If it helped the team, maybe it would help with the tennis, too.

* * *

テニプリ

* * *

Going back to a school sports setting from the top of the international stage had been quite the shock for Ryoma. Umpires here were willing to forgive foot faults such as starting a serve past the boundary line. Players were willing to commit these faults. Spectators had no clue that what the students were doing was wrong- even in light of some people turning pro as young as sixteen over in the US.

His teammates were exasperated at Ryoma's exactness in all things technical. He would not allow a single mistake when it came to the rules. As long as he was training with someone, that someone had damn well better put up with changing sides at the right time, serving into the right corner and being where he generally was supposed to be at a certain point in the match. He would coerce and needle them into complying with his need for perfection, pulverizing even the first-years who had only started playing tennis with beginning middle school if they tried talking him out of it.

Not that he was any more forgiving of himself. His twist serve, an excellent first that had the power and spin of a top pro's stop-ball often scratched the line, but he would never call something in that wasn't. He was the sharpest judge of whether or not he had landed in the field before his racket had hit the ball. No corner shot that was even slightly questionable turned into a point for him. He would rather allow his opponent another chance to score than take a cheap hit himself.

All that, and still it turned out that people simply didn't care. Even at the Nationals, umpires had more than once forgotten to provide new balls for the players after nine games, calling them to change sides at the right time or allowing them to stand in the wrong position in doubles matches. The international pro stage had turned Ryoma, a perfectionist even at the worst of times, into someone who could only smile back at his three months in national school competitions. As nice as the tournament had been in terms of making new friends- if they could be called friends since not even chatty Aoi had phoned him once, as useful as it had been when it had come to developing a competitive edge against a different cast of players, as exciting as being on a team and winning and losing in concert with others had been- when it came to sports, Ryoma just couldn't compare it to the few weeks in New York. Pitting himself against the mercilessly exacting eyes of cameras and speed guns, fighting against the knowledge of being physically inferior to his opponents, wishing for a reprieve after days and days of driving himself to the limits in a way that made his match against Yukimura seem like a walk in the park- how could he ever compare the two?

"Echizen! Noone _cares_ if we serve from inside the court!" Horio screamed at him. Ryoma was judging a short two-on-two practice between Katsuo, Kachirou and the loud-mouth plus a short-haired new addition to the club. One team of two was to return shots as volleys (if possible) in front of the net while the other was to make points from the baseline. A missed shot or point made led to a switching of positions- while the game went on. It was an excellent exercise to sharpen reaction time, reflexes and foresight while also forcing players to train their forward-backward motion.

"Point, Katsuo-Kachiro team," Ryoma deadpanned. His captain, who was judging a similar match-up on the next court over nodded at him approvingly. "Seven-three."

"ARGH!" the first-year (who could not be bothered to wear Seigaku's team uniform) screamed. Ryoma ignored him and watched his partner serve for the third time. The new addition had had some formal training, he thought, but he was very much a beginner, seeing as his serves went all over the place and he had no timing whatsoever on his footwork. His serve promptly went wide, something that could easily happen if you were serving from inside the service court- you had to practically play your own thrown ball as a smash.

"Jump one heartbeat after you've thrown your ball," Ryoma advised; the newcomer's leg power was still underdeveloped. The other first-year looked at him, a little puzzled, but nodded silently and, on his second serve, managed to place the shot right into the corner. The opposing two rushed after it in vain.

"Seven-four. Switch," Ryoma said, a smirk creeping around the corners of his lips at the open-mouthed stare of all four of his team-mates.

Their captain's whistle ended the game. Ryoma climbed down from the referee's chair, stretching his back and loosening his shoulders. Another blow of the whistle saw them all lined up on the center court, bowing to the captain and vice-captain.

"Good practice for today. We will meet again in two weeks, when the exams for us third-years are over. I will introduce your new team captain at that time. That is all. Dismissed!" Ryoma was slightly disappointed that they, the Regulars, had not been playing any matches during the practice, but he could understand the need of having the other club members trained first and foremost. Nodding to his fellow first-years filing out of the courts, he stowed his rackets carefully, having lent one of them to Horio's partner (who had been using a woefully inadequate wooden racket that threatened to break apart every time he managed to hit a topspin shot)/.

"Echizen! Wait up!" Tezuka commanded him. "Sure," Ryoma said, zipping up his jacket and placing his bags over his shoulder. "What is it, Captain?"

"Walk with me, will you," Tezuka answered. Ryoma shrugged, used to non-verbal communication from his captain after more than three months of training under his supervision.

"I think the new one on the court was quite OK, right?" he asked when the silence stretched uncomfortably. As at ease as the two of them were playing against each other, Ryoma's natural reticence and his feeling out of place made close personal interactions between the highly traditional captain and his unconventional first-year ace rather tense.

"He has actually been part of the club since the beginning of the year," Tezuka told him, his stern tone almost making Ryoma flinch. He had a bad memory when it came to names and faces, so what?

"Ah yeah?" Ryoma asked, trying to place the unremarkable boy whose only distinguishing characteristic was his lightly bleached hair- if you could even call that a distinguishing characteristic since half his class had bleached hair (2).

"His name is Kaitani. He is in class 1-4 and has a bit of a tennis background. You should pay more attention to your teammates."

"Not my teammate," Ryoma mumbled under his breath.

"The regulars aren't the only ones on this team, Echizen!" Tezuka rebuked him sharply. Ryoma blinked. He didn't think his captain would be able to follow his mumblings.

"Sorry."

"Just try and remember them."

"Yes, captain." Ryoma would rather bite off his tongue than tell the older student that part of his name-recalling troubles was that he could not always decipher the names written on the members registry. While his kanji knowledge was steadily increasing, the sometimes illogical readings they took on in names simply did not come easy to Ryoma. He was a far cry from the boy who had needed to ask the scatterbrained relative of their coach for directions in the metro, but he was also not completely literate yet.

They lapsed into silence again, walking side by side, Ryoma taking three steps to Tezuka's two. Feeling a little weirded out at Tezuka's changing moods- he could swear the captain was smiling just now- Ryoma started to fiddle with the cuffs of his school uniform as they reached Seigaku's gates.

"Thank you for the talk, Captain," Ryoma said, fidgeting. "I'll see you around."

"Not so fast, Echizen. There's still that matter I needed to talk with you about. Why don't you come with me to my house?"

* * *

テニプリ

* * *

It was a very subdued Ryoma that took off his shoes at his own home late in the evening. Karupin took one look at his human and snuggled up to him as soon as he had sat down on the stairs dividing the entrance from the rest of the house. Picking up his cat, Ryoma ignored his cousin's calls telling him his parents had gone out for a business dinner and quietly went up to his room.

"It's OK, I'm not hungry," he replied when Nanako told him there were cold leftovers in the fridge.

Not... hungry?" She repeated, but Ryoma was gone already. "Something weird is going on around here- again!"

Ryoma sighed, slowly closing the door behind him and walking over to his bed as if in a trance. On the ceiling, he had hung up the U.S. Open poster he had nabbed before he'd known he'd get into the finals. He stared at the silhouette of the tennis player smashing an invisible ball into the opposite court until the thoughts in his head were too much for even that distraction. Throwing one arm over his eyes, he absentmindedly threw and caught his favorite tennis ball with the other, replaying the "conversation" (well, it _had _been more of a lecture) he'd had with Tezuka after their practice...

_"Eh? Davis Cup?" Ryoma almost dropped the tea his captain had given him. Sitting at the traditional low table was not something the American-raised teenager had experience in, and he shifted more and more the longer the silence between the two tennis players had lasted. Tezuka had been the first to break, setting down his mug and looking at his kohai intently over the rim of his glasses._

_"Sounds good, why's it a problem?"_

_"It would mean a lot of responsibility being heaped upon you all at once. The Davis Cup is a team competition, Echizen."_

_"I _do_ play tennis as well, buchou," Ryoma had replied, feeling a little insulted that Tezuka should think so lowly of him as to assume he would not know the nature of the second-most important tournament series after the Grand Slams- in his opinion. _

_"That is not what I wanted to infer, Echizen," Tezuka said calmly, sitting back on his haunches and looking the part of a stern teacher. "I just think it would be too much, being torn between two teams."_

_"I would not be torn... there is still time until the Spring Tournaments start up again for the inter-school games. I thought you said the first selection camp was to be at the end of February? It would not be hard to do my best for both teams. Plus, the Cup we're being scouted for is the one next year, right? It would be no problem." _

_"Really? You could promise to give a hundred percent for each and every single match and practice for both of them?"_

_"Like I said: There is no temporal overlap between the two. I should be fine."_

_"Should be is not enough when you're the captain of a team, Echizen."_

_"Captain, eh?"_

_"I want you to make a decision. Ryuuzaki-sensei told me they want you for the Davis Cup- this year's Davis Cup whose first rounds start in March. I had made the suggestion to make you captain at the same time. Think about it, Echizen- do you believe it would be fair for Seigaku's team if their captain had to divide his attention between two things? Would you rather go all out for the international stage? Or do you honestly feel that you will be able to compete in both the race for a place on the Davis Cup team and the race against time to build a strong team for the All-Japan inter-school tournaments?"_

_"One or the other? Or both? Mada mada, Captain. Your way of springing something like that on someone is really not all that easy to take."_

_"I did not make you Seigaku's pillar of support in order to allow you the easy way out, Echizen."_

_"If I were such a good pillar this would not be a decision at all." Ryoma turned his face away from Tezuka's penetrating gaze. The captain's intensity almost scared him a little._

_"Take your time thinking about your options, Echizen. Come back to me with your decision soon."_

_"Oi, buchou?" Ryoma rose, setting his still-full mug back on the table and surreptitiously stretching his aching legs. He could not keep going on with this more than uncomfortable conversation without needing to run a little from the emotions it evoked._

_"Yes, Echizen?"_

_"Are you going for the Davis Cup as well?"_

_"I will, my studies permitting."_

_"Maybe we'll meet on the courts there." Ryoma was relieved Tezuka had given him the out he'd requested._

_"Just think it over carefully. Don't let your guard down."_

_"Mada mada dane, buchou."_

The Davis Cup. The international team competition had drawn Ryoma's interest ever since he had been a tiny child, riveted to the screen as he watched the U.S. team duke it out against players from all over the world. Agassi, Sampras... the biggest names in tennis had been the biggest stars on a stage that was set in national colors through and through. He had never wanted anything so much as to stand in the middle of a cheering crowd of his own people, being carried to victory by their voices. When he started to comprehend the implications of his dual nationality, the dream dulled a little around the edges but still- being part of a team made up from the best of the best of any country and pitted against others not as an individual but as part of a cohesive whole, this must be the best.

What did the other option offer? Being Seigaku's captain was a stressful occupation at best, an impossible task all other times. Ryoma wasn't about to waste his time on something he felt he had no talent for, and dealing with people was certainly one such area. Still... stepping in Tezuka's footprints would be a dream come true. Maybe he would finally fulfill his promise of becoming a pillar of support for the team? He could not pretend he had not heard the whispering tongues wagging about how he had abandoned the team in their hour of need, directly after the Nationals. He _had _left them alone. He had not been there when the kickback from being the best in Japan had made the team as big-headed as could be. He had not been there to help Tezuka battle against the ailing spirits of his teammates. He had absconded to the States, first playing a dream match in the Open, then rehabilitating as though he had all the time in the world before crashing back on the team with no preamble. He could understand the wrath of the non-regular team-members, them having been robbed of a chance at a Regulars' spot once more. Ryoma's arrival had been timed so their spotlight had been stolen once more, and the junior students not only didn't respect them as much as a result but they had also been forced to face up to their own lesser talent when presented with the unmistakable genius of the youngest Grand Slam tournament winner ever. For them not to sabotage him, Ryoma would need a lot of people skills to get them on his side. People skills...

No, being a captain certainly didn't hold very much appeal for Ryoma. His desire to please Tezuka notwithstanding, he was more than certain of his faults in regard to interpersonal relations. Who would be second choice, he wondered? Maybe Momo-senpai? The kind-hearted future Senior would be a much better choice than a standoffish Junior with a perfectionism complex. Ryoma closed his eyes. If only Tezuka weren't so disappointed in him if he refused his part of the offer, taking Ryuzaki-sensei's side. If only there weren't the added disappointed looks of all the leaving senpai. If only... if only he could find it in his heart to go with what he wanted instead of what he felt was expected of him.

The third-year regulars had it easy, Ryoma mused. They would just get to leave all this mess behind, an unfinished team, the lack of new talent (as far as Ryoma was concerned, there was not a single member ready for taking a singles spot within the few months left until the start of the next district games), the general air of defeat and despair hanging over Seigaku at the thought of two-thirds of the tennis team graduating.

Ryoma knew that their victories had earned the tennis club more and more members- why, at the beginning of the year there had barely been a handful of other first-years apart from himself and the annoying trio. Now, there were close to twenty new faces. How Tezuka-buchou had allowed them to come in late in the year he did not know, but he suspected Coach Ryuuzaki had had something to do with it.

He felt overwhelmed at the idea of having to sift through all their incompetence to perhaps find the one single tennis player that could be molded out of the raw matériel he had been given. Not a very promising outlook. Besides, hadn't he already failed his role as Seigaku's pillar? Hadn't he already left the team when they needed him? Hadn't he just been lucky to arrive back on the stage of the National Championship finals, pumped up and ready to go due to all his rivals acting as _his_ pillar of support? No, that role was not for him, he suddenly decided, a stray hand creeping to pet Karupin who was cuddled to his chest. He was first and foremost a very good player, not a very good leader. His innate sense of responsibility seemed to extend no farther than the boundaries of a tennis court. Outside, he was lazy, unpunctual and totally and utterly unable to function as the glue that kept a team together.

Far too often, Ryoma felt lost in a world of his own, as far removed from everyone else as he could get. He was not a very demonstrative person; in fact, the intensity of his own feelings scared him into hiding more often than not (3). Over the course of the past few months, he had felt inexplicably emotional time and time again. Fleeing from his own feelings into a detached, cold, perfect player seemed the only way to deal with the sudden flashes of anger, hatred even, or that warm breeze stirring in his chest whenever he was being lauded for success. Everything had become so much more intense when compared to the start of the school year when he had been a somewhat scared, somewhat cocky and arrogant new student in a school that was only too eager to welcome him.

"Ryoma?" Nanako knocking on the door startled him badly enough that Karupin let out an indignant howl, Ryoma having tweaked his ears rather harshly.

"What is it, cousin?" he asked as respectfully as he could manage with all the thoughts of responsibility swirling in his mind.

"Just wanted to tell you that I'm keeping your dinner warm for you... and that I think you shouldn't hurry things that don't need to be hurried. You're going to be here a while longer- and you've still got more than two years of middle school left, Ryoma."

"Thanks, Nanako," Ryoma answered back in English. His mind came to a sudden halt, his cousin's words resonating in his ears. More than two years... no need to hurry... still here for a while longer... "Do you know something I don't, Nanako?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"No. I just... I can tell you that I've been where you are now. My life hasn't been quite as clear-cut as you might think it was.". Ryoma rolled his eyes.

"I'll be down in a moment," he said. "You better tell me then!"

"We shall see." Nanako smiled mysteriously.

"Come on!"

"Just come down to dinner, Ryoma."

"Che. Extortionist!"

* * *

テニプリ

* * *

Nanako, as promised, had talked and talked. She had taken a year off after high school, deciding on getting a bit of work experience under her belt first before going on to college and studying. Her vocation, she felt at that time, was to become a chef, or maybe a p_âtissière_. She even harbored a secret ambition of being an okami, someone who ran a traditional Japanese hotel known as a ryokan as Ryoma had been told after asking about the unfamiliar term. Unfortunately, she had fallen in with the "wrong crowd" as she called it, falling in love with the son of an okami and going as far as moving back to Kyoto with him.

"He was supposed to be my dream guy," Nanako said, "only he was a nightmare." She had escaped with her self-confidence and life in tatters, a mere wreck of the enthusiastic culinary student she had been starting out.

"Coming back to Tokyo and trying to get into college... it was the hardest thing I ever did. If your parents hadn't offered me to stay at your home here, I might have never made it and ended up serving fries at your favorite burger restaurant for a living. I owe Uncle Nanjiroh much more than I can ever repay- and your mother too, of course. She's even been teaching me to cook American meals!"

"So that's why we've been having next to no Japanese food around here," Ryoma grumbled.

"All I want to say is that everything happens for a reason. If you're to make this choice now, it's because you're ready for it. None of the opportunities you're offered come without a price, but each of them carries their own reward, too. My Kyoto-style _daifuku _are much in demand in my class!" She winked at her young cousin.

"How is knowing that your _daifuku_ are great going to help me?"

"I don't know. That's for you to find out. Oh, by the way, I thought you should see this. It's addressed to your father, but since your name is on the envelope as well..." Ryoma turned the heavy letter around in his hands. The official stamp of the US Tennis Federation was glaringly obvious on the back side.

"This just got a whole lot better," Ryoma grumbled, ripping the letter open. Just as he'd thought. It was another invitation to join a Davis Cup team.

* * *

テニプリ

* * *

When Ryoma came back to school after the weekend his new-found resolution made him both more and less eager to confront the captain and the tennis team's coach. Ryuzaki-sensei would certainly be overjoyed at hearing the news of her special protégé's son rejoining the international stage after he had announced his retirement so shortly before. While the Davis Cup wasn't going back on the Juniors tour (or even the professionals'), it would create enough of a stir, him being short-listed for _two_ countries, that it would put Ryoma firmly back on the radar of every tennis academy talent scout or freelance trainer there was. He didn't intend to take any of those offers, of course, his father being more than enough as a challenger and trainer that he couldn't foresee the need for anyone else anytime soon. He was still on the out and out as to which country to play for, _should_ he play. He had successfully hidden both invitations from his father, certain that he would not let him decide freely between the options that now presented themselves. Sure, Ryoma really wanted to go for the Davis Cup, but should he go right on to the World Group level or stay in the Asia/Oceania group where he would get to face off against multiple winner and serious contender Australia soon? Both choices held their own appeal, and neither was easily taken.

Representing Japan would ensure him the undying devotion of every single female (and a lot of male) student in Seigaku. He would also earn the approval and acclaim of both Ryuzaki-sensei and (maybe) Tezuka. It might even soften the blow of not taking over the captain's role, if he'd decide on that.

Representing the US, well... Ryoma was certain he would meet a few good opponents from the Open there. He might also get to be challenged and his talent fostered better in the rather more intra-team-competitive atmosphere. He also felt close to the country he had grown up in even though he'd learned to love Japan in the time he'd spent there so far.

Fact was, Ryoma was at a complete and utter loss. The pros and cons for each team were about equal. Both seemed ever more attractive the longer he studied things such as training venues, training camps, pre- and post-match care, facilities offered for use during the competition... Each player had been promised their own physiotherapist if they didn't have one on staff already. They were also assured of the respective countries' best experts on sports medicine with regard to tennis related injuries. Maybe it was time to talk to his dad. Or Ryuzaki-sensei. Or his mother. Anyway, he did not have too much more time to come to a decision.

* * *

テニプリ

* * *

English class was called to order. Somehow, his inviting Kikumaru had caused not only almost the whole regulars to appear (with the exception of Inui who was following his own special "preparation menu") but also a complete set of every single third-year rival he had ever played against plus a few that had simply been in the same competitions. The girl who had roped him into teaching her had been torn between pure anger and sheer incredulity when faced not with her "dream guy" alone but more than enough buff, handsome tennis players. Ryoma felt close to screaming out in fear if he were completely honest. Tezuka and Sanada were glaring daggers at each other. Fuji and Yukimura were having a "pleasant" conversation in the back of the room; Ryoma was unsure as to why those two with their perfect grades had even decided to come if not to torture him. The coach's braided young relative and her loudmouth friend were starry-eyed in the first row center seats, a position hotly contended for by Nakamura Kimiko. Against the Ryuuzaki girl's friend's voice she didn't stand a chance, though. That one could cut glass with her shrilling!

"So, English." He said, finally getting his voice to work. "English is one of the easiest languages to learn, but one of the hardest to perfect." There, that sounded good. He'd heard a German tennis player say something to that effect during the Open.

"In order to learn English, you need to speak English. There will be no Japanese spoken while we are in this room. If you don't know a word, improvise. Describe. Or just don't say anything." He had high hopes the Osakada girl would be hopeless so she wouldn't speak.

"Just English?" Nakamura cried out, dramatically clutching her hands in front of her chest. Ryoma frowned. This was not the set of a TV drama! Yukimura and Fuji both had a suspicious glint in their eyes, seemingly planning to demolish the girl before the hour was over.

"English," he repeated. Sanada and Tezuka were nodding acceptingly, Fuji and Yukimura looked like the cat that had just been handed the cream supply of a lifetime, Kikumaru flailed around in his seat a little trying to adjust to the whole situation while Oishi was his calm self next to his partner. Atobe flipped back his forehead lock. Figured that he would be as arrogant as ever.

"Cool! English is, like, my favorite subject!" The Osakada girl almost brought some of the classroom walls down with her shriek. Though mangled in pronunciation, it was nonetheless colloquial English. Ryoma hid his face in his palm. Oh no. She had some command of the language. Ryoma sighed, adjusted his cap (the first thing he'd remarked upon was that wearing hats or caps was fine with him in his study group) and got down to getting them speaking. Once he'd gotten it through that it was fine to make mistakes as long as you were trying, even the Nakamura girl who'd been traumatized by the terrible genius duo was making progress.

Nevertheless, he was _very _glad when it was finally over.

* * *

テニプリ

* * *

Exams had, at long last, arrived for the third-years, and without them the halls of Seigaku were strangely empty. Most of them, like Eiji and Oishi, were going to take advantage of the school's excellent escalator system that would carry them up through high school and their choice of several pretty good universities if they maintained their grade average. While not exactly known as an elite feeding school, Seigaku's reputation was good enough to have several hundred students try and test into their high school every year. Some of Seigaku's students in return tested out to the more elite public schools, but from the tennis club nobody but Inui, Fuji or Tezuka stood a chance in Ryoma's opinion.

The first-year students were leaned hard on to prepare them for the end-of-year exams they were going to take as soon as the third-years were done with theirs. In an uncharacteristic move, the coach and Tezuka had announced that they had not yet selected the next tennis club captain, even though he was supposed to be named during the week after their exams. Both cited needs to watch the club operating without the third-years' interference, but Ryoma knew better. They were still waiting on his decision.

In theory, this meant that the tennis club would run on unsupervised.

In practice, it meant that training had become almost impossibly lax at first. The scheduled times had seen less than half the tennis club practicing on the courts since there was nobody making sure they would train. While it was still cold outside, the onset of February had seen the outside courts opened up for the students' use again. Ryoma was one of the few to take advantage whenever the weather permitted, the other regulars joining him on most occasions though Momo-senpai had to beg off quite a few sessions because study groups interfered with his club times. Ryuzaki-sensei had nodded her approval of their little subgroup since Ryoma made sure to always ask around if anybody else wanted to join them once he had been prodded to by his classmates (and one very unexpected source).

Ryoma tried his best (on his own!) to pull Mizuno and Katou into training with him and the second-years. Among the first-year tennis club members, they were the most promising. Katou, especially, seemed to be a lot more receptive to Ryoma's efforts at improving their tennis and confessed to taking lessons from his father (a trainer at a local tennis club) whenever they both had any free time, having been awoken to the possibilities of playing by Nanjiroh of all people. Horio, being Horio, hung on to their little group of three, taking care to talk a lot and practice as little as possible.

Arai, too, had become almost fanatical in his training. While he was still hazing the other club members as much as he could, his shots had picked up a lot of power, a fact that had quite surprised Momo-senpai when they had had a short one-set match a few days back.

Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Ryoma sighed as he set up the last of the three courts he was planning to use for practice that day. Due to the senpai-tachi nagging him, he had finally agreed to teaching the first-years and some of the newer second-year members a few breaking balls- just some simple top spin and slice returns at first, then, depending on their talent, he might push for something more difficult.

On the court he had marked a spot the players should aim at, and a little cone their breaking shots were supposed to topple if executed correctly. He made sure the angles were about a third of what the regulars were capable of- Kaidou's Snake could almost bounce off at a right angle after all.

Ball baskets were set out at each of the nine practice stations (three per court). Each player would have ten tries, then had to go collect his balls while the next took his turns. It was a simple rotating exercise that would allow them maximum practice time while still keeping them moving. He, Ryuzaki-sensei and Momo-senpai, who had promised he'd be at practice today, would be feeding the players their shots.

Satisfied, Ryoma plopped down on a bench by the court, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to enjoy the early spring sun while sipping on a Ponta and stretching his legs a little. The Monkey King would be surprised at what he'd managed to do all by himself!

* * *

テニプリ

* * *

_"If you're deliberately looking for trouble, nobody will help you, you know, Echizen?"_

_Ryoma barely acknowledged the speaker with a grunt. It was the day after the English study group, which had run so late they all had to be picked up by the parents (or corporate drivers) who owned a car. Ryoma, who had been more than a little exhausted by it all, had decided to take a little nap while he could, which had just been interrupted by the most unlikely person ever. Lazily opening one eye, he raised himself into a sitting position on the bench that had become his new refuge. Being as the roof was still unsuitable as a retreat on most days, he had taken this little alcove near the photography lab and art club studio as his own. Without rounding the potted plants shielding it from view it was next to impossible to discover which suited Ryoma just fine. He still hadn't gotten over the English-teaching requests... err... attacks._

_"I mean it. If you're to captain Seigaku towards a second place at Nationals, you need to drop the attitude."_

_"What's it to you, Monkey King?" He groused. Yet another person trying to influence his decision._

_Atobe flipped his rapidly growing hair back. "Tss. Here I come to spend my time with Seigaku's runt regular, and what do I get? An attitude. An Atobe doesn't take that from just anyone, you know, brat?"_

_"I reiterate: What's it to you?"_

_"I feel like giving my successor a challenge. Some of my players reported you training at the same facility as they did around Christmas. I'll have you know, our succession tournament is in full swing. You had better watch out, the new Hyoutei is going to come back thrice as strong."_

_"Why are you telling me all this?"_

_Atobe snorted elegantly- how that was even possible, Ryoma had no idea.."I think I already mentioned it. Hiyoshi shouldn't just be handed the championship. I want him to find a worthy opponent in Seigaku."_

_"Hyoutei's going to be as gutted as our team. Besides, I may have plans."_

_"The Davis cup? Please, you could play those first matches in your sleep. At Hyoutei, we have Ootori. And Hiyoshi. And several of the second-years who have been close to varsity level. What do you have? Yourself? I don't think regulations will allow you to play all five team matches, even _if _you're a Davis Cup team member. That would just be looking for trouble."_

_"I'm not looking for trouble," Ryoma shot back, eyes glittering. The Monkey King just knew how to push all of his buttons. "There's no way I'm going to captain this team. For one, I can't even stand most of those people. For two, Momo-senpai and Kaidoh-senpai are much better suited for that role." There. He had finally voiced his biggest objections._

_"Momoshiro is a good vice captain, approachable and likable. Don't tell him I said that." Atobe turned serious, losing his haughty look and earnestly watching the younger student sitting in front of him.. "Kaidou is a very good player, but he is not much of a leader. He is too soft-hearted._

_"You, on the other hand, have just the right amount of disdain for anybody not giving their absolute all. Even incapacitated and without any memory of your tennis career whatsoever, you never give up. That is something that inspires. Makes people want to be like you. Makes people want to help you._

_It made _me_ help you in the end. Now, you just need to get over this strange need of yours to always speak your mind. Learn politeness. Be a captain." He turned from Ryoma, giving his parting shot._

_"I'm waiting for you, on the Davis team and on the high school level. Come catch up!"_

_"One question!" Ryoma called after his opponent. Atobe turned around, the lazy look of superiority he usually sported firmly etched onto his face again._

_"Yes?"_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I, more than anybody else around these parts, know what you're dealing with."_

_"How?"_

_"That's question number two, which I'm not answering. Try not to lose, I'm the only one who may defeat you. Oh, and while you struggle watch me and be awed by my marvelous prowess!"_

_"Che! Mada mada sune, Monkey King," Ryoma called to the back of his retreating opponent. _

* * *

テニプリ

* * *

Momo-senpai and Kaidou tumbled onto the courts in their usual fashion- bickering and fighting. Ryoma watched them for a while, until they threatened to disrupt his set-up.

"Oi! Senpai-tachi!" he called out to them. Both froze in mid-swing (yet another argument whose technique was stronger, apparently).

"Echizen! Didn't see you there!" Momo-senpai came over to lean on his shoulders and try to ruffle his hair, which Ryoma prevented with a scowl and a firm hold on his cap.

"Fshhh. Couldn't see your own hands if you were holding them right in front of your face either." Kaidou-senpai hissed back.

"Cut it out!" Ryoma decided to try and use the supposed authority Atobe had implied he had. To his eternal surprise, both the belligerent players sorted their limbs towards their respective bodies and looked a little shame-faced.

'Sorry, Echizen. Didn't want to crash your set-up."

"Nothing happened," Ryoma said, puzzled by their reaction.

"Still, we're sorry..."

They were interrupted by the other team members trickling onto the courts in pairs and little groups. Steeling himself, and making sure his cap was firmly covering his head, Ryoma went to the net of the middle court.

"If you're all ready, we can warm up." He said. Even though he didn't raise his voice, the noise level decreased exponentially and the tennis club members put down their tennis bags, lining up for their jogging with Kaidou taking the lead.

From a window above the courts, Ryuzaki-sensei watched in approval.

* * *

テニプリ

* * *

…_**tbc …**_

* * *

_Whew, that was a little harder than I'd thought. My muse died with my computer, I lost my tenipuri files and there I was, starting on my PhD and not even so much as looking for this poor little story for two years. It's been a while, but I hope that some of you are still sticking around? I want to have another chapter out soon! So, please tell me if I'm still doing alright in creative writing. It's been such a long time!_

(1) I know, I know... the whole football vs. soccer thing. I admit to having a thing for action...

(2) There are at least six first-years in the club. The ichinen trio plus two I saw when re-watching episode nine (11:40). I'm thinking of using the guy that's standing on the right ^^

(3) Based on experiencing the beginnings of teenage age. I was perhaps a little better informed than most, didn't mean I could really understand what was going on with me emotionally. The sheer overwhelming mass of emotional information that comes with hormonal maturity is something quite easily forgotten, I guess.

_No ATP this time, my only thoughts were "Write! Write! Write!". I'm going to keep going, and hope to see you next time!_


	8. Breaking apart

_Ah, the US Open were such a thrill-ride yet again! My favorite (Federer, in case you didn't already know from previous rants) lost to my second favorite. Meh! Then Djokovic thankfully went on to winning the finals, yay! Is it just me or does anyone else think a RL Ryoma might just play like him, except he could smash better? Ah, well, he'll probably play like the Joker in my mind once he's grown up a little. _

_As for the story... It's finally time for some big changes. Time-skips shall happen soon as we reach the close of the first half of it. Probably no more than three chapters to go. Still undecided whether to keep the story as one or to break it apart. _

_Obviously, lots of liberties taken with both the club system (normally, third-years stop attending clubs before the winter holidays e.g.),graduation ceremony (those of you who attended school in Japan know that I changed both the date and the order of speeches as well as skipping most of it) and tournament schedules. I'll also somewhat simplified the whole Davis Cup to something manageable in a fanfiction. _

* * *

_Chapter__08:_ **Breaking**** apart**

* * *

There was just one week left. One more week until the third-years would graduate, leaving Seigaku Junior High forever.

Ryoma sat on the roof, frowning at the clouds passing by without a care in the world. He'd finally given his decision to both Tezuka-buchou and Ryuzaki-sensei, but both of them had looked rather uneasy at his unexpected and unprecedented choice.

Nevertheless, they had both acquiesced to his wishes, and Tezuka was going to announce the new captain and vice-captain at this afternoon's final training before the spring holidays.

Second-year... he wondered what really was going to change for him. It was his second year in Japan, the second year at Seigaku, but the first year he wouldn't have his teammates or challenging opponents with him anymore. That Harakiri guy from Rikkai with his weird bloodshot-eyed mode of playing might present a small opportunity to go all-out, he surmised, or maybe the Tarzan guy who was even more kanji-illiterate than himself. _Koshimae_, no really?

Ryoma snorted softly, tugging on his cap so it shaded his eyes and settled in for a small nap. Less tennis meant he really wasn't all that hungry after all, and his bento would wait for him until after school. Lately, he'd felt more than one set of eyes on him at all times (it might have had to do with him reaching the top 500 students grade-wise, _nation-wide_, even without his tennis factored in). There had also been some small, annoying incidents like his shoelaces breaking, and his second pair nowhere to be found. His oyaji always played barefoot anyway, and since Seigaku only had hard-courts, it was no hassle for him to do the same. Less amusing was the day his science textbook had vanished, only to be found in his locker after school had ended when he could've sworn it wasn't there when he looked before. That was one reprimand he wished he could have skipped, and one lesson he'd rather have not missed.

"I see Fuji and Inui were right. You tend to retreat to the roof whenever you can." Tezuka's voice interrupted Ryoma's mid-day nap.

"Yes, buchou," the younger tennis player replied, sitting up crosslegged and peering into the sun towards Tezuka's face.

"Are you ready for this afternoon's match?" the captain asked, settling down beside his teammate.

"Mada mada dane, buchou. The question should be if _you_ are," Ryoma replied with an automatic smirk. Both of them fell silent, until Ryoma just couldn't bear it anymore.

"It just... doesn't feel real, buchou," he softly said. "You and Kikumaru-senpai and Oishi-senpai and Kawamura-senpai and Fuji-senpai and Inui-senpai graduating, not being here anymore. Buchou not being buchou anymore."

"We're only moving across to the Senior High campus, Echizen," Tezuka frowned. He had, after much discussion with his family, decided to take his chances with Seishun Koukou as opposed to testing into something like Rikkai's high school division. (1)

"Still. I only came to Japan a year ago, and already everything is going to be new again," Ryoma muttered, feeling extremely uncomfortable being studied by his captain's intense brown gaze.

"And you will leave again soon," Tezuka pointed out. Ryoma sighed.

"I haven't said which country I'll play for yet. Both the Japanese and the American tennis association are willing to make concessions for my student status, just as they will for you."

"Atobe's gotten a similar invite to yours," Tezuka suddenly said. Ryoma looked up, startled.

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you know? He grew up in Germany with his English mother before coming to Japan for middle school."

"He's... the same as me?"

"I don't know," Tezuka-buchou replied. "He only told me of his intent to speak with you when I told him of your dual invitation."

"Ah..." Ryoma trailed off.

"He's going to go for the Japanese team," he said suddenly, right after Tezuka had gotten used to their silence.

"He is?" Tezuka sounded surprised. "He'd stand a much better chance at winning if he went for the German or English team instead," he clarified, noting Ryoma's raised eyebrows.

"Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't," the young tennis prodigy shrugged. "After all, the team is going to have you on it too, and who knows what other monsters they'll find."

"I learned from Sanada that Yukimura has declined to attend the elimination camp," Tezuka said. "He said he still needs time to recover from his illness and hospitalization."

"Che. That guy just really hates to lose," Ryoma spat. While he had enjoyed the final games of his match with the fragile-looking strongest junior player in all of Japan, the first few games had been anything but fun. His absolute conviction of being the victor in a match and his obsession with winning had led Yukimura to develop the terrifying technique that robbed his opponents of all their senses while playing, a technique that had almost cost Ryoma all his will and Seigaku the championship. The Pinnacle of Perfection, his ultimate weapon, had been the only thing that had saved Ryoma from a most embarrassing loss.

Lapsing into silence again, the two strongest tennis players of Seigaku waited for lunch hour to end with the ringing of the bell.

"It would be best if you leave your concerns outside the court," Tezuka finally said in parting, glasses flashing. "I don't intend to go easy on you today. Don't let your guard down."

"Mada mada sune, buchou. I don't intend to lose today either."

テニプリ

Each and every middle school in the country had their own ritual of handing over the captainship. Hyoutei had a mass intra-school tournament that ended with only one person standing undefeated. Rikkaidai had something similar, with the matches being determined by the previous regulars. Mainly, challengers tried to defeat the previous regulars and they set their own standards for which people qualified.

In Seigaku, the previous captain would designate his successor, with input from the supervising coach. More often than not, they tried to have a second-year captain as that would allow for a greater consistency in play and coaching for the school compared to someone who was already a third-year.

The captain, however, did not just make the announcement. The title had to be won, just like the position of being a regular, by playing and winning a tennis match against the current holder.

This was what the very last tennis practice for the third-years was all about.

The new captain not only had to overpower the last (which was usually a given since the graduating player would not undermine his successor) but to also show how much he'd evolved in his time at Seigaku.

"Now, Echizen," Tezuka's deep voice rang out, "show us that our decision to name you my successor was the right one. Prove that you have what it takes to lead Seigaku to another national championship!"

Ryoma peered up at the still much taller soon-to-be high school student, golden-brown eyes glittering with the unspoken challenge.

"Ne, buchou- how about we both seal the Zone for this match? I don't think we should have our own version of Isner and Mahut..."(2)

"But of course, Echizen." the captain replied in his usual serious manner. Nervous chuckles of the non-regulars followed their announcement- none of them fancied hanging out on the courts for three days.

They slowly walked to their positions, Tezuka preparing to serve, Ryoma standing a good way behind the baseline to receive.

"Don't go easy on me, buchou," he quipped, smiling at the one who was still, and would probably be even after he graduated, his captain. "Don't let your guard down."

"You're still not all there yet, Echizen," the captain, surprisingly, shot back. Ryoma's eyes widened, and then narrowed in concentration as he saw the aura springing to life around Tezuka.

"Eehh... so we're going to be serious from the start, ne, buchou?" he muttered to himself, taking another two steps back. If this was what he thought it was...

"From the beginning, Tezuka-buchou is using the Hyakuren Jitoku no Kiwami?" Fuji said, eyes blue slits in a silently expectant face.

"Che, he's really not giving me any quarter." Ryoma didn't want to use his Pinnacle of Perfection in this last match he was going to play against his middle school captain while they both were in the same club. He wanted to go as far as he could under what he considered his own power.

Tezuka softly tapped the ball onto the ground, one, two, three times. His body coiled like a spring as he threw the little yellow sphere high in the air, launching himself after it a moment later.

The serve went hard and fast through the middle. Ryoma jumped, reflexes up to the task, both hands holding his racket even though it was a forehand shot, for he had already anticipated the sheer speed and power of Tezuka's play.

"Phew!" Kikumaru-senpai whistled at the edge of his consciousness, "that serve was 200 km/h!" (3)

So, he'd just play as he had played in the Open. Tezuka-buchou was on par with most of the pros anyway. Ryoma drew back, Tezuka's return wouldn't be any easier to hit than his serve.

The ball dropped right behind the net, rolling back until it was touching the green mesh. Zero-shiki drop-shot, right off the bat, off a return that had been but a blocking of Tezuka-buchou's own power serve and thus at best uncontrolled, at worst uncontrollable.

"Heh, that's just like you, buchou," Ryoma said, eyes sparkling brightly under the rim of his trusty FILA cap.

Tezuka merely prepared his next serve. The younger future captain by now had moved back almost as far as the fencing around the court, knowing that, if anything, Tezuka's power would increase as he fell deeper into his Pinnacle of Hard Work.

Another serve thundered down the outside line. Ryoma returned it with the type of topspin that normally invited either Fuji-senpai's Tsubame Gaeshi or the Tezuka Zone, but he was pretty sure neither of them were to follow. Tezuka much preferred to slice his backhands after all, and didn't he just sound like Inui-senpai?

Tezuka was hardly allowing him time to breathe before returning his shot with twice the power attached. Ryoma himself had thankfully escaped playing him, but if that didn't look like a certain Spaniard's topspin forehand, he was going to cut his hair monk-style.

Breathing out with an audible sigh, Ryoma exerted every muscle in his body in one of the rare twist spin shots he allowed himself to hit.

Tezuka, of course, wasn't fazed in the slightest, catching it as a half-volley and negating the spin with a twist of his wrist. Smirking, Ryoma slid along the floor in preparation for his Drive B. Seeing Tezuka run toward the net, he stopped his motion at the last instant, instead hitting a high lob reminiscent of Fuji's Hoshi Hanabi technique, only without the irregular bounce. Backpedaling, Tezuka caught up to it, but he was now caught at the back of the court, and Ryoma's drop volley softly bopped twice before coming to lie still.

The score was even.

"Well played, Echizen," Tezuka praised his successor, who lightly tipped his cap in acknowledgment.

"Thanks, buchou," he replied. Ryoma couldn't stop his light smirk turning into a smile anymore than he could stop the moon, it was just too good a match. Finally, both of them could play to their fullest with nothing hanging over their heads. No more doubts about whether or not Ryoma could be a strong pillar of support for the Seigaku tennis team, no doubts about whether or not he'd be able to handle two responsibilities at once, no fears of injuring the other or being injured yourself. This was tennis as it should be- two strong opponents, ideal conditions, knowledgeable spectators cheering at just the right point.

He didn't know when exactly it happened, but it had to have been sometime during his first service game, after Tezuka had barely held onto his serve at advantage after two break chances for Ryoma. He knew _why_, of course, after all, having this much fun playing tennis wasn't something that happened every day (unless he played his dad).

Ryoma's eyes flickered with golden fire, the aura erupting around him almost tennis-ball bright yellow dimming as he entered Ten'i Muhou no Kiwami. He was caught in a rush of tennis, hair swaying in the breeze, his world narrowed down to the spin of the yellow ball in front of him and the tiny muscle contractions betraying his opponent's intent.

"Thirteen shots," Tezuka-buchou announced across the net, after no time at all had passed in Ryoma's mind. That was one of the drawbacks of Saiki Kanpatsu no Kiwami- he could predict how long a rally would be, but got fixed on the outcome which in this case favored the server, Ryoma.

Keeping both his pinnacles active at the same time, Tezuka faced down his protege. The Prince of Tennis, they called him, and a more fitting title had rarely been found. Ryoma was all a prince should be- brash and brazen, dashing and daring, skillful and skilled.

"Now come at me with all you have, Echizen, no, Ryoma. There is nothing standing between us now, nothing we can do except play our best."

Ryoma served a Twist Serve that curved towards the heart of the court, more difficult to hit as a left-handed player than a serve rising toward the opponent's face in that particular corner.

Tezuka's return hit the net. Saiki Kanpatsu no Kiwami was broken, and that meant...

"Game and match, Echizen. Six games to four."

"Ne, buchou, that was fun," the shorter player smiled up at Tezuka, both their hands clasped and raised in triumph over the net. The cheering squad had fallen silent as they had pushed and pulled each other to new heights, discovering just how far they could go with their respective techniques. They had probably been scared into silence, Ryoma thought. "We have to play each other again."

"The next time we play, you will be the one called buchou, Echizen-buchou," Tezuka said, an honest smile playing around the corner of his mouth, openly this time and not afraid of Inui's camera.

"Buchou will always be buchou," Ryoma stubbornly repeated, causing Tezuka's smile to widen.

"You're going to be the greatest pillar of support Seigaku could ever have," the old captain said.

"One of the greatest," the new captain corrected. They walked off the court together, and if anyone noticed that their hands were still clasped, they kept their silence, because it was time for an unprecedented move.

"Kaidou, Momoshiro- get on the court."

The selection of the _two_ vice captains.

テニプリ

The last minute of the last-ever club practice for the third-years at Seishun Gakuen were filled with continuous applause from all the club members that were going to remain. All of them had tears in their eyes as they bowed to their team. All of them were smiling, too, as they shook hands with every one of them, too. Ryoma, newly minted Echizen-buchou that he was, tried to keep a level head through it all, but even his natural stoicism and placid nature couldn't cover the uproar that knowing he was seeing his senpai-tachi for the last time as members of Tezuka-buchou's- no, _his_ tennis club was causing in his emotions.

They had won the Nationals together. They were forever engraved as a team on the trophy in the shining display case next to the principal's office- and in their hearts, as cheesy as that sounded.

He was going to miss them.

"Alright, members," he called out, taking care not to shout the "minions" moniker that had sprung up in his mind the minute he'd realized that they were _his_ to command now. "Let's send off our senpai-tachi with three cheers!"

"Seigaku..." At least the loudmouth Horio was good for starting cheers.

"Win! Win! Win!" shouted the rest of the boys' tennis club.

"Seigaku..." This time it was Kawamura-senpai, the giant Seigaku flag he'd lifted one-handed at the Kantou tournament swishing through the air as he swung it like a racket.

"Win! Win! Win!" cheered the club.

Finally, it was his turn. Taking a deep breath and forcing all his courage to the forefront of his overrun mind, Ryoma stepped in front of his tennis club, facing the line of the leaving third-years.

"Seigaku..." he cried, tilting his cap down in acknowledgment of his team-mates' achievements while the others behind him bowed deeply, all the while completing the chant with their third "Won! Won! Won!".

The third-years left the court, filing out after no-longer-buchou Tezuka, all the while the second and first-years were cheering and clapping and whistling. The fence doors clanged shut.

Ryoma was no longer the super rookie. He was now...

"Echizen-buchou?" Ah, count on Kachirou to point out the obvious.

"So... let's end this. Disperse and scatter!" he said, immediately face-palming inwardly. That had sounded far too much like the Monkey King's conceited coach.

"Yes, Echizen-buchou!" the team shouted. Well, they seemed to get it even if he didn't yet.

テニプリ

It was Tezuka who gave the graduation address after the principal and Kawamura-senpai's father as head of the school parents had given their speech. He delivered the appropriate and expected words of praise, and promised continued dedication and hard work in Seigaku's high school division. As student president, he cut an imposing figure in his uniform, which he wore for the last time ever that day. Thanking the school for all they had done for the graduating class, he stepped back from the speaker's dais and made room for Kaidou and Momoshiro, who, in their typical manner, instigated a shouting match with the congregation of students that somehow still managed to convey their thanks to their senpai-tachi for having been there for them all this time.

Then, the third-years filed out of the auditorium, and, after a short wait, the first and second-years were let go as well, to anxiously await their graduating senpai-tachi in front of the school.

Laughing, accompanied by their proud families and friends, the third-years exited the school for the final time. After this, after almost three weeks of spring break, they would be high schoolers. First-years all over again.

Someone, probably one of the louder first-years, started to sing the school song, and within just a few measures the whole school including the departing third-years joined in singing the verses that had accompanied every school function for three years for them.

_...seishun kenji yo iza yukan... _

The last strains of song wafted away on the soft breeze with the cherry blossoms swirling through the air, and then it was all over. Seigaku was starting their spring break.

テニプリ

…_**tbc …**_

_I tried very hard to make this chapter longer than I finally cut it. Somehow, the next 3k words or so just didn't want to flow into these after all, so there's a short one to tide you over until I finally get over my stupid hang-ups and jealousy of fictional characters. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!_

_ATP in here instead of on my profile because I'm just that lazy..._

(1) _Koukou_ means high school. Somehow, _daigaku_, meaning college or university, has been mistranslated as high school more than once (though I'm certain I didn't even need to write this distinction down, it's just me being a know-it-all). From its name at least Shiritsu Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku is a private (shiritsu) prep school for the school's associated college, which would mean that it's pretty prestigious (_fuzoku_ meaning attached or affiliated from the kanji readings afaik [they're NOT the sex industry kanji that are pronounced the same]).

(2) In case you haven't been able to watch: Record-holding longest match in history, ended 70-68 in the fifth. Went on for eleven amazing hours (and five minutes)!

_See you next time!_

(3) about 124.5 mph, for those of us imperially inclined.


End file.
